River Bound
by KLMeri
Summary: When Kirk begins to receive anonymous love letters, he assumes they're coming from his partners, unaware that he has attracted some unwanted attention. The situation turns perilous once Kirk realizes his mistake, for he has been ensnared by someone who wants to keep him from Spock and McCoy at any cost. Established K/S/M. AU. - COMPLETE
1. Part One

**Title** : River Bound (1/5)  
 **Author** : klmeri  
 **Fandom** : AOS  
 **Pairing** : Kirk/Spock/McCoy  
 **Warnings** : Stalking, Mind Control, Non-consensual kissing  
 **Summary** : AU. When Kirk begins to receive anonymous love letters, he assumes they're coming from his partners, unaware that he has attracted some unwanted attention. The situation turns perilous once Kirk realizes his mistake, for he has been ensnared by someone who wants to keep him from Spock and McCoy at any cost.  
 **A/N** : Written for Valentine's Day round of McSpirkHolidayFest; based on the prompt by **ladybuggete** for this AOS AU: _Jim is receiving Anonymous Valentines and believes it is coming from his partners. Unfortunately it is coming from a dangerous stalker. The anonymous Valentine instructs Jim where to meet them for dinner date. Will Spock and Bones figure out what's happening and get to Jim in time?_

Dear friend, you said AU and I took you at your word. This one is weird. Credit to be given at the end for my inspiration.

I'll admit, I have been nervous since I received this prompt. Stalking is not my usual fare for story conflict and it's, well, an uncomfortable thing to write. There's obsession and then there's _obsession,_ the creepy, bad kind. I think that line can often be blurred by misconception, so let me clarify here: Obsession-based stalking is not a joke. Stalking, any kind, is a serious harassment and can very quickly lead to a dangerous, even life-threatening, situation. I hope I haven't downplayed any part of that.

* * *

Riverside, Iowa is anything but a quaint little town. Things exist there that cannot be found in normal cities, at times trapped, but more often just born different due to the proximity of what exists opposite the river. Jim Kirk is one of those born-different things. At first he blames himself, like when one makes a secret wish to be noticed, only to end up with a curse instead of a talent. By the time he's into adolescence, he blames his absentee father, whom his mother pretends will show up on their porch one day, still young and in love with her. Jim, on the other hand, has long since decided the man must have re-married, died, or just plain forgotten his wife and two kids. After all, if George Kirk ever dreamed of returning, he has had Jim's whole life to try.

Only when, at twenty-two, Jim gives up trying to leave Riverside—an actual impossibility, he comes to accept, since every road leading past city limits deposits him back on the outskirts of his grandfather's farm—he also gives up his anger. Good things come into his life, then, which makes him wonder if he spent years being miserable simply because he had chosen to ignore what Riverside could offer.

A man doesn't become content overnight, of course, but Kirk is in a great mood as he crosses the street in front of the Men's Mission and pops into the shop next door. Today the store is empty, though it has been visible from the street since dawn.

"Hey, it's me!" Jim calls down the front aisle, out of habit ducking as a set of chimes made of metal odds-and-ends rattles over his head. One of its pieces is liable to drop off, unceremoniously conking a customer on the head. Jim thinks he is on good terms with the shop owner, but even so the chime-set can be fickle concerning its victims.

Escaping unscathed, he slips through the gloomy atmosphere of the storefront with practiced ease, past the invisible barrier which signals the end to the glamour meant to scare away less hardy clientele. A man in spectacles appears at the end of a curved glass counter. He nods to Jim without pausing in his work, a studious polishing of a bronze pocket watch with a white-and-gold checkered handkerchief.

"James Tiberius Kirk. Preferred form of address: Jim." The shop owner looks his way. "What can I do for you today, Jim?"

Jim retrieves a small red velvet-lined sack from an inner jacket pocket and places it on the counter. "Spock's out of rabbits."

"Ah. Unfortunately, so am I."

Jim had been afraid that might be the answer. "He has a birthday party this afternoon."

"I sold the remaining few to a very eager Mr. Hutch. The next shipment arrives at the week's end."

Hutch is a new Blood in town, another supposed Highborn (although most claim that, thinking humans are not capable of telling the difference common arrogance and aristocratic arrogance). Jim has only heard about him through the gossiping locals at Take-A-Walk cafe, who just love it anytime someone or something shows up from across the River. If Hutch is trying to move in on Spock's turf, Jim owes it to Spock to let him know.

The shopkeeper's unblinking grey eyes look large and round behind his glasses. "Perhaps Mr. Spock can be creative?"

Jim braces a forearm against the counter, leaning in. "You've met my boyfriend. Creative isn't in his vocabulary. He's not going to like being unable to do his tricks by the book."

The owner firms his mouth momentarily before suggesting, "Pigeons?"

"Feathers are messy," sighs Jim. "Also, birds tend to leave behind nasty surprises in his hat."

"Mice?"

"Love to chew _through_ the hat."

The men stare at one another in brief silence.

Jim breaks eye contact first, sticking his hands in his pockets as he frowns at the sack. "If the performance was on a stage, Spock might agree to use an illusion. But no way that will work for a birthday party. You know how kids need to touch stuff in order to believe it."

"I've heard there are many tricks a magician can perform which children find amusing."

Jim's mouth tips up at one corner. "His business card has a rabbit and a top hat on it. Kind of smacks of false marketing _not_ to do the old rabbit-from-the-hat bit."

The shopkeeper just shakes his head and goes back to polishing the watch.

"Well," Jim says, collecting the empty bag in one hand, "we'll figure something out. Put us down for part of that shipment, though."

"Of course. This shop is loyal to those who are loyal in return—and Mr. Spock is one of our best customers. I'll have the usual order ready for you on Saturday."

"Thanks." The chime-set sways silently as Jim exits the shop.

After a few minutes of walking along the avenue in thought, considering how he might find out more concerning what Hutch is up to, Kirk hears the familiar whine of a pickup slowing down behind him. He stops where the sidewalk and street meet, facing the pickup pulling up on his left, its passenger window already rolled down.

"You want a ride?"

When the pickup stops, Jim pops the door open and gets in. He looks at the driver, who stares back with eyes like his own, except today the color is decidedly more turbulent sky than bright blue.

"Hey, Sam," Jim says. "What brings you out here?"

"I was interested in seeing which direction you'd choose."

That's about as forthcoming as Sam ever is. Where Jim is the Riverside Observer with his emotions, all flashy headlines and big announcements, his brother is a top-secret list of nuclear codes. Gaining access to Sam's feelings usually results in a huge detonation, with casualties.

Jim ruthlessly suppresses the urge to flash his brother his trademark troublemaker's grin, because he does know a few quick ways to set Sam off. But not today. Tapping one blunt fingernail against the hard plastic window rim, Jim keeps his gaze fixed elsewhere. "I'm guessing I got that part right."

"McCoy's?" Sam questions, already pulling into a lane of traffic.

"Yeah," he agrees, thinking about the rabbit-less sack hidden in his jacket. "That'd be good." He hopes McCoy has an idea or two on how to fix Spock's problem.

Sam kills the engine about half a block from the apartment building where Jim's second boyfriend lives. Jim settles his hand on the door handle but doesn't pull on it, waiting.

"Mom wants to know if you're coming to Sunday dinner."

"Depends."

Sam blinks, looking his way again. "On what?"

"On who's invited," Jim explains, calm. "Am I allowed to bring Spock and Bones?"

"Oh." His brother adds slowly, "I don't know."

"Then I don't know either."

Sam shrinks in his seat, clearly no happier about his family's inability to resolve their differences than Jim is. "Yeah, okay. I'll tell her that."

Jim sighs because sighing seems like the only thing he can do which hasn't been tried already. Yelling did no good; neither did radio silence. Not with Winona.

As Jim jerks on the handle, Sam says, "Aurelan's pregnant."

The world stills for a second. Jim sees a chubby, wailing baby with wispy blond hair in Aurelan's arms. A boy. He blinks. The vision dispels. "That's great, Sam. Congratulations."

"Thanks." Sam smiles at him for the first time in a long while. "Now get out."

Jim does grin, then. "See you around, _Dad_."

Sam mimes cuffing him around the head. "See ya, little brother."

Jim climbs out, and the pickup rumbles off.

Jim takes the stairs to the third floor, two steps at a time. He waves to the neighbor with the cat who likes to sun on their balcony in the afternoon and waits until the woman enters her apartment before he disengages the spell lock on his own door with a slight of hand. Then he twists his key in the physical lock and goes inside. Regular locks won't deter the criminal-minded, but magical locks generally do.

Kirk knows before he fully crosses the threshold that no one else is home. Being not fully human, Spock has a unique energy signature, unlike Leonard's, but both are recognizable to him. That is one of the many reasons he noticed Spock and McCoy in the first place, and then made a point to stick around until he could figure out what sensing them meant.

He tosses Spock's magic bag on the kitchen counter and grabs an apple on his way to the living room. Someone left an empty mug on top of a stack of newspapers on the coffee table. The mug would be McCoy's. The newspapers belong to Spock.

Jim retrieves the mail pile waiting for his return in his favorite recliner, running a thumb over it as he sits down. His eye catches on the edge of a red envelope in the center. Pulling the envelope out and discarding the rest of the pile beside the newspapers, he sees the letter is addressed to him. There is no return address, not even a stamp; its flap is tucked in rather than sealed, which means it's likely a gift. Jim pulls open the flap with a smile.

The card inside is a simple white, its handwritten message in red ink even simpler:

 _let love begin with thee_  
 _everyone is for you_  
 _but you are only for me_

Jim smiles as his gaze reaches the signature at the bottom. "From your secret admirer," he reads aloud.

Who left it out here for him to find, Bones or Spock? The handwriting is neither of theirs but that doesn't mean much. A spell of disguise could alter the appearance slightly to keep him guessing.

They aren't downplaying Valentine's Day after all. Leonard especially has been adamant that he does _not_ celebrate the holiday, claiming it's over-commercialized. Spock, having never experienced human-conceived traditions in general until he left the Realm, readily admits to not understanding the purpose of having a calendar day specifically for celebrating one's love affairs. Then again, Spock had not known what being in love felt like before meeting Jim and Leonard.

Jim is pleased to have this evidence that he isn't the only romantic in their relationship. If one or both of his partners is testing the waters via sending anonymous love letters to him, he certainly won't spoil the fun.

Inside the bedroom claimed as his own despite being used mainly as a study, Kirk places the envelope and card inside a textbook. Then he returns to the living room to message a friend about Spock's rabbit problem.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Kirk's head is braced in his hands. Scotty has some terrible ideas. A mechanical rabbit? Even if the tinker can make any contraption he designs seem like the real thing, the kids won't buy it. As a young boy, Jim certainly wouldn't have—and it only takes _one_ annoying brat at the party to declare the rabbit as a fake and ruin the trick and Spock's show for everyone else.

Yeah. Not happening.

 _No fake rabbits,_ he texts back to Scotty.

 _Bugger off_ is his friend's next suggestion.

Afterward, McCoy comes home in the usual noisy fashion to find Jim scouring the Internet on his phone for the next best thing to magical rabbits, and flops down next to him, planting one boot on the table. His jeans are ragged at the edges, unraveling and threadbare in other places from overuse. The old Henley sweater had originally been Kirk's. Between the outfit, the finger-combed hair and two-day beard, Leonard could pass for homeless. Jim likes the look.

"Hey, kid. Whatcha doin'?"

"Trying to find Spock a rabbit."

"So the magic shop was out." Jim's boyfriend sighs, rubbing his thumb against his mouth. "Had a feeling. It seemed like bad business to book a party on such short notice."

"Any business is better than no business."

Leonard raises a cynical eyebrow at him. "It's not like Spock _needs_ a job."

If Spock wants to learn to live as a human, he does. But Jim doesn't say that. He and McCoy have argued over it a thousand times already.

Leonard shifts on the couch, probably not wanting to fight either. "Spock's problem aside, did your mom ever tell you which of us is _her_ problem?"

Jim blinks, surfacing from the contemplation of his boyfriend's strangely careless demeanor. Because he doesn't answer fast enough, Leonard answers for him: "I bet it's me."

"Why would it be you?"

"'Cause I'm just a plain ol' bad-tempered human. Don't have the ability to charm the pants off people like Spock does."

Jim stretches an arm across McCoy's shoulders. "You charmed my pants off, Bones."

Leonard huffs. "I didn't. You came at me with them already missing."

Jim barks out a laugh, remembering that night. "Much good that did, since you refused to take advantage of the situation."

"You were drunk. How could I know you wouldn't regret us in the morning?"

Jim smiles, then. "I thought you said I confessed I loved you. Didn't that make it obvious?"

McCoy just rolls his eyes, but he lets his shoulder settle more firmly against Kirk's. "About this thing with your mother…"

Damn. Jim had hoped a trip down memory lane would be sufficiently distracting. Yet somehow he always ends up underestimating Leonard's determination to go digging for the root cause of other people's problems.

"…we ought to tackle it directly."

"Directly as in how?"

McCoy gives him an unamused look. "How else? By talking to her."

Kirk groans.

Leonard pokes him in the stomach. "You're going to regret it if you don't fix this."

"You said it—it's _her_ problem, Bones. I shouldn't have to fix it."

"You have to at least do your part. If she won't budge, then…" The sentence fades briefly before starting up again. "…we'll think of something else."

Jim kisses the side of Leonard's head, as if his boyfriend is a particularly precocious child to be proud of. "Don't worry about it," he says. "This isn't the first time Mom and I have disagreed over a choice I made. I doubt it will be the last."

"If you say so," grumbles McCoy.

"Did you text Spock about dinner?"

McCoy's air of un-caring dissipates in an instant as he sits up, incensed. "Text _him_? Are you kidding? He can't even work a damn cell phone!"

"It's the magic," Jim points out.

"It's the magic, it's the magic," mocks Leonard. "Screw the damn magic! I think it's Spock's refusal to accept that modern technology is smarter than he is!"

Jim hasn't seen McCoy this riled since last week and, yeah, that was about Spock too. "What did he do?"

"We had an interview," Leonard snarls, "and he bailed on me."

Kirk winces.

"And that ain't the worst of it, Jim. When Spock did deign to show up, he was two hours late, completely unrepentant, with Starbucks! And because of those damn pointed ears of his, you know what my staff did? They fawned all over him anyway!"

It's inappropriate to laugh, Jim knows it is. When he is certain he won't give Leonard a reason to strangle him, he takes his hand off his mouth and asks, "Spock didn't say he was sorry?"

Eyes flashing, McCoy crosses his arms. "He said he lost track of time."

Jim swallows a sigh. "You know that's an actual issue for Them, Bones."

Keeping time seems kind of pointless, Spock had explained to his boyfriends once, when one is expected to live a very long time. Also, aside from being unconcerned about living by a clock, Spock is easily sidetracked by 'fascinating human things,' which only adds to the problem of him showing up to places at the wrong time.

"That's why I told him to set his phone alarm in advance." Leonard drops back to his former position on the couch suddenly, his fit of anger gone as quickly as it came. "I handled it."

"Oh no," Jim groans. "What did you do?"

Leonard smirks. "I took his phone away. When he got upset about it, I told him since he was too much of a child to use a phone properly, there was no point in him having one."

"Oh _no_ ," Jim repeats.

"Oh yes. And then when Spock started the whole 'I've lived longer than you can imagine' bit, I said, yup, he was freaking ancient, which is why he qualified, because apparently half-bloods act like children in their old age just like humans do. Why else would he be so terrible at adapting to twenty-first century technology?"

Jim tries to swallow a laugh and ends up wheezing. When he can speak again, he points out, "Spock left home to learn more about humans. Did it occur to you challenging him like that could backfire?"

McCoy's smug expression wavers.

As if on cue, Jim's phone on the coffee table buzzes with an incoming text message. They both stare at it.

"Annnd there we go," announces Jim, since the text header reads Spock in bold letters. "The Ancient One heard us."

The phone immediately buzzes again. The follow-up message, Jim discovers after swiping his screen, reads, _Age is in the eye of the beholder._

Jim falls to the side, laughing, showing the text to Leonard.

McCoy snatches up the cell phone. "You pointy-eared menace!" McCoy yells at it. "Stop eavesdropping! And get your damn metaphors right!"

Spock pops in behind the couch, staring down at the tops of their heads with one eyebrow cocked. "You might speak louder, dearest," he advises, "in case my brethren in the Realm could not hear you." Spock raises the phone in his hand so they might see it. "As you requested, I have mastered the form of human communication known as texting."

"That's great, Spock," commends Jim.

"Damn it," Leonard complains. "I can't win."

Spock turns to his phone.

A moment later, McCoy's cell pings in his pants pocket. When the man digs it out, he reads aloud, "You have won my heart," immediately looking horrified.

Jim grins at the line of heart emojis on the screen. "Hey, that's pretty good. You did master texting, Spock."

"I requested the assistance of a young female at the bus stop. Her lessons were thorough."

"My god, no wonder he texts like a teenager!"

"You text like an old man," Jim counters.

"You text like a _drunk_ ," Leonard shoots back.

Jim snatches up Leonard's phone and dances away with it. "Then let's see how you like it when Christine gets a text saying you're not working tomorrow!"

McCoy almost falls off the couch in his haste to follow Kirk. "Jim, give that back. Damn it, Chapel will end me!"

"She needs you that bad, huh?" Jim waggles his eyebrows, knowing for a fact McCoy's co-producer will take charge of the documentary in a heartbeat. After meeting everyone on the staff, Jim has decided they are a bunch of extremely dedicated and blatantly terrifying individuals. Who else would have the guts to chase down supernatural creatures for interviews?

Leonard hisses and advances on him. Jim sprints around the couch to use Spock as his shield. As McCoy comes at them, murder in his gaze, Spock raises his cell phone and snaps a picture of himself with Jim cowering behind him.

"I can also use Snapchat," Kirk and McCoy's boyfriend states matter-of-factly as he inspects his new picture. Then he turns the camera on McCoy, advising, "Now would be the time to smile."

"AAAAGGGGHHHH!" roars Leonard, leaping for them both.

The camera's flash goes off.

Afterward, from the floor, pinned in between flailing human limbs, Spock observes, "Leonard did not smile." Jim watches him upload the photo anyway.

* * *

For lunch, Jim makes everyone sandwiches, leading to Spock and Leonard debating the merits of a traditional PB&J versus using non-grape jams and jellies. Eventually Jim grows weary of reminding them there's no point in arguing when they only have grape jelly in the refrigerator and returns to the couch to doze.

He startles awake some time later, lifting his head from Leonard's lap to exclaim to Spock on the opposite end of the couch acting as his personal footrest, "The rabbit!"

"Ah, yes," says Spock, blinking, unconcerned as he surfaces from the paperback novel in his hands. "The rabbit."

"The _party_ ," McCoy adds, glancing at his watch. "Oh good, you still have a while."

"Spock, the shop didn't have any rabbits."

"I am aware of that, Jim."

Jim stares up at McCoy.

"Don't look at me, kid. I forgot about it."

Spock closes his book, resting it on top of Jim's ankles. "Informing of the fact is unnecessary, but your concern is appreciated. The matter was resolved when I encountered a relative this morning."

Jim's chest constricts the tiniest bit. "You have a relative in Riverside?" Why didn't Spock say something before now?

"He is lately come to town." Spock seems oblivious to his boyfriends' expressions, adding, "After hearing of my new business venture, he decided to make a nuisance of himself by buying my supplier out of rabbits."

Jim sits up. "Hold on. Your relative is _Hutch_?"

Leonard purses his mouth. "What kind of name is Hutch?"

"His Blood name is not Hutch, Leonard."

Leonard replies sharply, "You mean like yours isn't Spock?"

"Precisely."

McCoy huffs, but subsides. "I'll get it out of you someday, Spock."

"I look forward to that day, my persistent one."

Jim has been with these two long enough to tell when a Spock-McCoy argument is actually flirting. His primary concern is of one only thing: "Is Hutch out to get you?"

Spock blinks at him. "Define the means by which he would 'get' me, Jim."

"Jim is asking if the little weasel crossed the River bearing a grudge. What do you want us to do about him, Spock?"

Jim approves of the grimness of McCoy's question. "What Bones said."

"At this time, nothing."

Jim opens his mouth but McCoy's hand dropping to his arm halts all protest.

"All right," Leonard tells Spock. "But keep in mind, Jim and I may not be one of your kind but we humans have defenses and tricks too."

"That's right, mister. If nothing else, I have an acquaintance in the Pack who owes me a favor." Not that anyone in the Pack needs or wants much of a reason to throw a trueblood back to their side of the River. Pack members are notorious for their hatred of anybody with elfin features and mannerisms, despite a third of their ranks being halfies themselves.

Hutch probably hasn't been around long enough to form any alliances or barter for protection, so he likely wouldn't survive more than a few hours after the Pack catches wind of him skulking about Riverside. And if that's how Jim can keep Spock out of danger, he doubts he would feel any regret for his actions.

"So what about the birthday party?" Leonard wants to know, circling back to the original topic of conversation. "You gonna skip the rabbit trick?"

Spock just looks at them a moment. Then he points across the room to a dining table chair with his cape draped across its back and his top hat and wand lying on the seat. After Spock murmurs a sentence in his native language, the hat moves of its own accord until a tiny, twitching pink nose appears beneath the brim. The rabbit, having decided there is no danger present, squirms out from under the hat and hops to the floor.

Jim watches it inspect the rug before asking in wonder, "Is it real?"

"Affirmative."

"And where'd you get it?" McCoy asks, his voice laced with more suspicion than wonder.

"As the Starbucks cashier refused to accept a rabbit as a form of payment, Hutch was unable to purchase the cafe latte he desired. We made an exchange, my human currency for his rabbit, which I believe was profitable for both sides."

Leonard sighs, muttering, "Damn elves. Should've known."

Jim drops his head to Leonard's lap again and puts his feet on Spock. "Wake me up before you leave for the party."

"Yes, Jim," Spock replies dutifully.

Jim returns to his nap.

* * *

The next day Jim lingers at the opening to the alley between the station house and the city's complex for public services. The morning shift change is underway, with the police officers looking fresh and crisp in their ironed uniforms as they cross the parking lot toward the station. Jim is more curious about the men and women coming out of it, however, watching their shuffling gaits, noting how their faces are drawn tight over their skulls. There must be a big case going on to deplete the energy of an entire department.

Finally, the man Jim has been waiting for exits the station. He's dressed casually in black jeans and sneakers, with a Zepplin t-shirt under a shiny new leather jacket. His silver sunglasses are designer from at least a decade ago. Between the glasses and a bland expression, he doesn't look very friendly.

Jim watches him until he approaches the street lamp opposite the alleyway. Then, pausing there long enough to tilt his head ever-so-slightly in Kirk's direction, the man continues north. Jim follows, deliberately keeping several paces behind.

After skirting the perimeter of the park next to the complex, they both come to a halt under a birch tree shading the sidewalk. The spot is out of visual range of the station.

Jim finally comes level with the man, mirroring his quarry with his hands hidden in his jacket pockets.

"Long time no see, Kirk."

"What do you want?"

"Polite as usual."

"Yeah, whatever." Jim stares at his reflection in the silver glasses. "I was hoping you'd lost my number."

The cop offers him a tiny smile, then, uncovering his eyes. They aren't any friendlier than the glasses. "I have a question. You have an answer."

An angry flush works its way up Jim's neck. "We were square, Gary."

"We were. Then your boy had his picture taken outside the jewelry store on 2nd and Holden right after it was looted last night. We caught him down by the Wharf. He had at least two thousand in gold. Tried to dump it into the river." Gary glances purposefully at a wristwatch. "He's been in holding for about ten hours. He's kept his mouth shut but you and I both know by noon that won't matter."

Jim is beyond anger now. "You should have called me when you picked him up!"

"And miss out on a golden opportunity?" The tiny smile becomes a teeth-baring grin. "Not a chance in hell." Mitchell goes on, "I hear the Wharf rats don't last more than three days now, at Genesis. The new hospital director is so skittish about their brand of crazy, he ships them upstate to the national detention center for the criminally insane at the first sign of River madness."

"You heartless bastard."

Gary's expression shutters suddenly. "I'm a b-town cop, Kirk. A place like Riverside doesn't have a use for people with hearts."

Jim is far from happy about being indebted to his ex-best friend, but he accepts he doesn't have a choice. "What's the question?"

The cop stares at him a moment. "There's word of a new southside gang."

"Riverside has a dozen or more gangs. We used to be in one, remember?"

"This gang isn't like ours. It's mixed."

Jim snaps, "I don't care. What's the _question_?"

Instead of answering, Mitchell takes a phone out of his pocket, thumbs its screen alive, and turns toward Jim. Kirk intends to dismiss the photo but after his first glance at it he cannot pry his eyes away. "What… is that?"

"The leftovers of one of their members."

Jim's stomach gives a lurch. "I didn't think you handled gang violence cases."

"You're not looking at evidence of gang violence, Jim." Gary flicks off his phone screen, interrupting Jim's next question. "What I need to know is where I can find another one, preferably still breathing." He stares at Jim expectantly.

"It doesn't work like that," Jim says reluctantly.

"Being alive is a good thing. So why can't you? Give me my good news, Kirk. Is there a kid like that alive somewhere?"

"Yes," Jim answers immediately, his gift already kicking in. His eyes shut of their own accord to allow an image to play on the back of his eyelids. What he sees surprises him.

"Ask Chekov," he says, opening his eyes to find Gary still watching him closely.

Gary's mouth thins in response. "If this is a trick—"

"It's not. I saw him with your… victim," he explains. And that kid had looked… Jim cannot quite find the words to describe his appearance, except the teenager looked unnaturally ill, his bloodless features already misshapen, barely recognizable as human. In fact, everything about him looked elongated, like stretched taffy. "Chekov was next to him, talking to him. They must know each other."

Mitchell is silent for a long time. Then, "A lot of the runaways end up in one gang or another. Okay, I believe you… for now. If your Rat provides me with a solid lead, I'll bounce him back to the Wharf, same as usual. But if you're lying to me, Kirk—or if _he_ lies to me—I'll personally escort him to Genesis's psych ward."

"Show Pavel the picture," insists Jim. "Tell him the kid will end up like that, and he'll talk."

After another beat of silence, Gary steps back, clearly satisfied. He will return to the station right away, will have to in order to talk to Chekov while Chekov is still sane. Jim is tempted to go with him. But there's not much he can do, being a bystander and an unwelcome one at that.

He needs to find a way to stop Chekov from sacrificing to the River. The River and the creatures who can thrive in it don't have a desire or a need for precious metals and gems. But you cannot convince a person addicted to River water otherwise, just like you cannot make them understand the water is diseased, not magical. In the end, even if you detox them, they almost always end up addicted again. The River isn't the lure. Its promise of self-confidence is.

Gary's voice cuts into Jim's train of thought. "You're wasting yourself on them, you know," he says, as if he has the ability to read minds. "Let the River eat them up. It's their own fault for thinking that stupid water will make them special."

"I don't expect you to understand, Gary. You've never been made to believe who you are isn't good enough."

"That's because I know how not to be a pathetic human being."

Jim hates that Gary's arrogance, left unchecked, has made him into such a callous person. He starts to turn away in disgust, but the man draws him in again by saying, "By the way, you've got a tail."

"A what?" Jim looks behind him, alarmed.

"Look at the park, not your ass," Mitchell says dryly.

Jim turns that way, seeing no one but a young woman studying the plaque of one of the park's bronze statues. "Who? I don't see anybody."

No answer is forthcoming. By the time Jim spins back around, the man has already crossed to the other side of the street.

"Shit," Jim says. He takes a moment to pull out his phone and check his messages. Then he goes in the opposite direction.

* * *

The garage on the edge of the city looks like a dump; that is, it's the most popular junkyard around for broken, outdated, and piece-meal electronics. Jim is careful where he parks his motorcycle in the gravel lot, having blown a tire one too many times on an errant spark plug or rusty screw. He walks into the garage without knocking, the protective shield around the building recognizing him instantly. He had had Spock make it.

Kirk cries at the top of his lungs, "Yo, Scotty!"

A voice crackles overhead, coming from an old speaker system. "Bugger off means _BUGGER OFF_!"

"Can't," he shouts back, shouldering his way around stacks of gutted stereo sets and amplifiers, nearly cracking a kneecap against a teetering tower of VCRs. "I'm bored!"

"Bollocks."

"Whose?" he asks, finally locating a doorway in one of the walls. "Geez, why can't you leave the office in the same place?"

When Jim steps inside, Scotty turns around, snapping up the front shield of his welder's mask to reveal a soot-streaked, annoyed face. "Because that makes it easier for you to bother me!"

Jim dismisses the complaint. "What are you working on?"

As Jim steps forward, Scotty pushes his face guard back into place and fires a blow-torch at his intruder.

Jim jumps back, hands flying up, palms out placatingly. "Whoa! I like my eyebrows."

The man cuts off the blow-torch, motionless for a moment before tossing the torch toward a cluttered side table. Then he pulls his helmet off and rakes back sweat-matted hair. "What happened with the rabbit?"

"Spock bartered for one."

"One of mine would've suited," Scotty mutters.

"Actually, Spock might swing by later. He was intrigued by the idea of using one of your…" Jim stares at the various objects around the office, some with faces, some without. "…inventions in his show."

"Ye don't say." Hearing that appears to mollify the tinker. "Want food? I'm starving."

"Yeah, sounds good."

Jim follows Scotty through another door to a tiny room with a cot. Scotty sits on the cot, leaving the floor to his guest. He takes a pot off a single, portable stove-eye burner and wipes the pot's inside with a pair of gray coveralls near to hand. When the man produces a ramen pack and tears it open with his teeth, Jim says, "Bones is gonna kill me for eating that."

"More for me then."

Jim sighs. "Fine. Got any chopsticks?"

"Probably under the bed."

Four ramen packs and an empty pot later, Jim rests his head against the edge of the cot, legs stretched out in front of him. "Pavel robbed another store."

"What kind?"

"Jewelry. Took the gold."

Scotty's sigh is notably sad. "'Twas bad for him the last time. After the third night, I woke up and he was gone."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"What's the point, lad?" Scotty says, enough of an echo of Gary's sentiment in the remark to make Jim want to plug his ears. "There's no cure for the Madness."

"Not yet."

Neither man speaks after that for a long while. At the point when the empty pot starts smoking on the stove-eye, Scotty rouses himself from the corner of his cot, dropping the tablet he had been playing a game on by Kirk's head, startling Jim. He switches the power off to the burner, then walks out of the room. His voice drifts back, with a note of coaxing, "I want to show you something."

Jim finds Scotty in the main garage, peeling duck tape off a cardboard box. "Show me what? Is it new?" He grins. "Can I sell it?"

"Sell this, and I'll be interested to see who offers me money for your head first, the cops or the Blood," Scotty retorts, reaching into the box. When he turns toward Jim, he is cradling something inside his cupped hands.

Jim stares at the little thing, made of burnished copper, trying to figure out what it is.

"Go on," urges his friend. "Pick it up!"

Jim does. Almost immediately, he hears the soft whir of minuscule gears spinning. It unfolds six insect-like legs from its body and starts to crawl along his palm then up his wrist. "Scotty, what's it doing?" Jim watches it pause to inspect his sleeve, pawing at the cotton weave with the two front legs. "What is it?"

"A spell-spider." Scotty gently pulls it from Jim's arm. The little creature folds up into a ball again. "The wee beauty is sensitive to magic. 'Course, practically everything in this creepy town is. That's why I moved out here."

"Because magic and modern tech don't play well together."

"Right! Half the time my inventions don't want to power up or, if they do, nearly explode in my face. The way magic fluctuates around the border, ye can't ever tell if it's helping or hindering things. So the farther away, the better, I say! And your Pointy Ears made a good shield. Since it went up, I haven't had one clock ticking backward."

"Weird."

"Eh." The man shrugs. "Weird to some, normal to others."

"And the spell-spider?"

Scotty strokes the shell of the creature, grinning. "She's the first thing I made that likes the magic."

"What does she do?"

Scotty frowns. "Why does she need a purpose? She just is." He grins. "I named her Lucky."

Jim groans.

Scotty cackles, whispering softly to the spell-spider, "Lucky #1, meet Lucky #2."

"Shut up." Then Jim thinks about what the man said and narrows his eyes. "Why am I number two? I'm the original."

Scotty's expression softens slightly. "You know, that's the first time I've heard you defend your gift, Jim."

Jim shoves his hands in his pockets, saying nothing. He _hates_ that nickname–and the others that have been bestowed upon him over the years because of his strange ability to 'see' good omens (even if none of those omens seem meant for him). His peculiar gift makes him one of the most well-liked people in Riverside.

It also makes him one of the most despised too. In other words, how folks feel about him is a strongly divisive subject. When he can offer lucky tidbits to brighten their days, they love him. But there are some people who never inspire one of his good visions, not even of something small and mundane like finding a five dollar bill on the ground. Jim has learned to avoid the ones who reek of misfortune by instinct alone; but word tends to spread if he appears to be avoiding someone. "Lucky boy Jim Kirk blacklisted so-and-so!" That creates paranoia among people, even his closest friends, like nothing else can. Then when something bad _does_ happen to that person (and inevitably it does), usually the blame lands on Jim.

So, whether Kirk is being thanked or cursed, he is always a spectacle, always an easy target.

Lucky is one of the nicer nicknames, actually. In high school, a bully named Finnegan used to laughingly call him the Wisewoman. "Look, it's old Wisewoman Kirk!" he would cry to the pack of boys who followed him. "Hey, Jimmy, tell us who's getting _lucky_ tonight!" Of course, Finnegan never asked that stupid question again after Jim finally snapped back, "Me, with your mom!"

Scotty snaps his fingers in front of Jim's face. "Hey, Jim. Where'd you go?" His gaze lights up. "Did you see something? Am I coming into a windfall? Please say I'm—"

"Definitely not," Jim replies, rolling his eyes when his friend looks crestfallen. He claps a hand to Scotty's shoulder. "Don't worry. That could change someday."

Scotty's expression turns sardonic.

"Yeah, maybe not," admits Kirk.

"You know, Jim, change only comes from being proactive. If we went to the race track and you used your little…" Scotty waggles his fingers at Jim. "…to guess the winner…"

Jim backs up, shaking his head fiercely. "No, no, no. I don't do that."

Scotty has latched onto his own idea with vigor. "But think of the money we could make!"

Jim jerks his phone out of his pocket and puts it to his ear. "Hello? Bones? Emergency? Yup, on my way."

"—millionaires—!"

"Gotta go, bye, Scotty!" yells Kirk as he swiftly backs out of the garage.

He tucks his phone into his pocket again once out of sight, sighing in relief. Scotty is a good friend, all things considered, but some ideas are just too far into the danger zone. And Jim's been there before. At some point, a man has to learn from his mistakes.

He is seated on his motorcycle, ready to crank it, before he notices the red envelope peeking out from his messenger bag. He removes the envelope and opens it, reading the card inside.

 _thy leash becomes thy heart_  
 _by my side, each day and night_  
 _nothing can keep us apart_

"Wow, okay," he says aloud, struck the subtle creep factor. _Spock must have been in charge of writing this one._

There's no other explanation for the awkward phrasing. Spock doesn't always comprehend the nuances of human communication, tending to expect that a spoken or written statement adheres to its plainest definition. It is possible Spock could make the mistake of assuming the message is romantic. McCoy would have used basic, sappy wording.

Jim shakes his head, deciding to laugh it off. The cuteness of receiving these love letters from Spock and McCoy outweighs their peculiarity. One of his partners must have slipped the envelope into his bag before he left the apartment this morning.

He starts up his bike and heads for the nearest road leading out of town. When the last city marker fast-approaches, Kirk closes his eyes as he crosses it. He opens his eyes a second later to discover he is speeding down a familiar dirt lane. The Kirk homestead comes into sight after the next bend.

His shoulders relax.

Home, sweet home.


	2. Part Two

Sam's pickup is not parked in front of the farmhouse, the realization leaving Kirk with a moment's disappointment. When he pushes through the screen door, disappointment strikes again, this time more soundly. Aurelan must be out with his brother. Jim had wanted to tell her how happy he is about the pregnancy, and also to see if Sam and Aurelan already know the baby is going to be a boy.

Before he reaches the family living room, a shadow falls across the front hallway. The shadow's owner stands just within the archway to the kitchen.

"Jimmy?"

"Mom," Jim responds, uncertain how her reception of him will play out.

Winona Kirk steps into the hallway, removing a flower-print apron from around her waist. "I was just thinking about you."

Jim runs fingers through his cropped hair, startled by how awkward he feels to hear his mother say that.

"Sam says you're not joining us on Sunday."

"It's probably not a good idea."

"Don't you want to congratulate Aurelan?"

"I came to see her today."

"Oh. Well, Sam took her for her doctor's appointment." Jim's mother falls silent, then, turning her gaze away briefly. The tone of her voice is different the next time she speaks. "Jim."

Jim's feelings of awkwardness turn to certain dread. "Don't."

But the woman goes on, "You'll never guess who I ran into at the supermarket."

Jim doesn't want to guess. How many times has she tried this tactic?

"Jan Lester," Winona says. "Do you remember her? You two dated in school." She sticks a hand into one of the apron's pockets, retrieving a piece of paper. It looks like it has been folded and refolded multiple times. "This is her phone number."

Frankly Jim doesn't remember Jan Lester well at all. Was she sweet or snobby, dark-haired or light-haired, smart or dumb? Their brief dating stint had to have been in middle school. Jim vaguely recalls wanting a girlfriend back then because it made him seem normal. It isn't like he knew as a pre-teen what kind of person he is actually attracted to.

He blows out a breath, annoyed now. "Stop doing this. Please. I'm not available." When his mother's earnest expression doesn't waver and the paper begins to tremble faintly in her hand, he caves enough to take it from her, displeased with himself as much as her. "You didn't tell her I was single, did you?"

Winona looks momentarily shocked. "Of course not."

Relief swaps Jim.

But of course, his mother isn't someone to give up meddling so easily. "Jan was a nice girl. You liked her a lot."

"We were eleven."

"She seems like a mature young woman. She remembers you, asked how you were. Maybe you should call her."

Jim closes his eyes and counts to five, then crumples the paper with Jan's phone number. "Mom, I'm in a _relationship_. And I'm not interested in meeting old girlfriends. Or do you want me to seem like the kind of person who cheats on his partner?"

" _Jim_." Winona's mouth firms with dismay. "I would never want that."

"Then cut the bullshit!" Jim shoots back. Since there isn't a trashcan nearby, he shoves the crushed paper into a pants pocket. "If you don't like me dating men, just say it."

"James Tiberius! Don't use that word. Your grandfather would roll over in his grave if he could hear you."

Tiberius Kirk would roll over laughing. He taught his grandsons curse words much worse than _bullshit_. Though, to be fair, Tiberius also always cautioned Jim and Sam not to use them around women-folk.

"And I don't know where you got such a ridiculous notion," his mother adds, clearly unhappy.

Jim studies the seriousness of Winona's expression, the stress lines around her mouth and at the corners of her eyes. He guesses they both think this conversation sucks. Still, now that's he said it, he cannot walk away without hearing an explanation from her that makes sense.

"Then what's your problem?" Jim presses when Winona grows silent again, "I'm happy with Spock and McCoy. I told you that."

In fact, he has made no secret of it to anyone. He finds it kind of difficult to keep quiet about his happiness since it's the first time in his life he feels he has good luck of his own. That is definitely something to brag about, in Jim's opinion.

Which is why it hurts him so much that his mother does not seem happy for him. She never shunned him for being different before, was always the one to encourage him to follow his heart when his other family members were scandalized. Between Tiberius and Winona, both Kirk boys grew up with the belief they should never accept less than what they deserved, that being especially true when it comes to friends, family, and lovers.

It upsets Jim now that he doesn't understand why Winona isn't on his side. She seems like a stranger.

After another prolonged silence, he gives up on receiving a straight answer. "I have to go," he says.

Winona's presence in the hallway seems to wilt. "Jimmy, about Sunday…"

"No," he states firmly.

She nods after a moment. "Then I'll ask Sam to drop off a lunch plate at your apartment."

He chokes on his disappointment. Saying nothing else since there seems to be no more to say, Jim turns for the front door.

"Stop."

The word is a whisper. There is no spell in it, but its command is as effective as magic.

Jim turns back to Winona, uneasy. "Mom?"

"Jimmy, he's an Other," she says in a very soft voice.

And just like that, Jim Kirk's stomach plummets to the floor. "He's Spock to me."

"With Them, love is an illusion."

"That's not true."

"Sometimes it is."

Jim closes his eyes. "Of all people, I never thought _you_ would distinguish between Them and us," he says, opening his eyes. "Or did you forget Dad wasn't fully human?"

"He was human enough," Winona counters, her tone sharpening.

"But Spock isn't?" Jim stares at her, stung on his boyfriend's behalf. "Believe what you want, but whether Spock is full Blood or half-blood doesn't matter to me. I love him because of who he is, not because of his parentage or where he came from."

His mother's voice rises, the pain in her cry evident, as he arrives at the door. "Jim, They took your father!"

He swallows hard, whirling back around. "Why is it always someone else's fault? Dad left! Blame him!"

"No," she insists. "No. He wouldn't have. He was forced. He was—"

Unable to listen any longer, angry to have his mother refuse to accept his choice to love Spock because of _her_ abandonment issues, he lashes back thoughtlessly. "Maybe he left to get the hell away from you!"

The sudden silence between them is deafening.

Then a tear slips down Winona's cheek—and Jim flees, slamming past the screen door, hurtling down the porch steps. A door slams; Sam, helping Aurelan out of the pickup. Jim catches their startled faces from the corner of his eye.

Bones was wrong, he thinks as his motorcycle helps him fly away from the farm. Talking doesn't help. With his family, talking _always_ makes their pain worse.

He wastes time downtown until his anguish has abated to a manageable level and the sunset arrives. Then he goes home to his new family, the two people he counts on to protect his heart rather than rip it apart. He doesn't mention to McCoy that he finally knows why his mother is against their relationship. He just focuses on enjoying being happy with them.

But that night, while the three of them are squashed together on a too-small bed, Leonard snoring on the right and Spock sleeping so quietly on Kirk's left as to appear dead, Jim stares aimlessly at the bedroom ceiling, wondering how much wider the rift with his mother will have to become before everything he held dear about her collapses.

Eventually that awful thought accompanies him into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

"See you later," Leonard says to his boyfriends, pausing long enough in his harried flight from the apartment to kiss first Jim then Spock on the cheek. The apartment door slams shut in his wake.

Jim goes back to eating his bowl of cereal. "Plans today?" he asks Spock.

"There is an opening ceremony for the city's new art museum." Spock folds down his newspaper to stare at Jim. "Would you like to accompany me?"

Jim considers that. "Will the Hill folks be there? Would I have to schmooze?"

"It is highly likely, yes."

"Then no thanks." He adds, "Keep an eye out for pickpockets. Highborns make prime targets."

"Duly noted." Spock returns to his daily news, and Jim finishes his breakfast.

When he gets up to put his empty bowl in the kitchen sink, Spock remarks, "Should we try lasagna for dinner?"

"There's a vegetarian version, so yeah we could. Why do you ask?"

"This cat Garfield finds it delightful. I wish to know why."

Jim bursts out laughing. When Spock puts aside his newspaper to watch Jim curiously, Jim says, "And all this time I thought you read the _articles_."

Jim's boyfriend arches one eyebrow. "I assumed the comics section was relevant to understanding humans."

"Oh, it is," agrees Jim, going over to Spock and leaning down to kiss him just as McCoy had. "Keep me posted on what you learn."

"Yes, Jim."

Jim reaches the living room when Spock calls to him, "Perhaps I may look into adopting a feline."

Locating his phone in the jacket he draped over the back of the couch, he grins to himself and advises the man, "Don't tell Bones that."

Moments like these, decides Jim, are what makes his life worthwhile.

* * *

The day's cloudless, sunny sky is refreshing. Take-A-Walk's door stands open to catch the spring breeze when Kirk gets there, just ahead of the crowd. He nods to the redhead behind the register and claims his favorite stool, the one at the end of the coffee bar facing an amateur painting of a river bank, the very same bank running parallel to the building.

The painting is a depressing montage of dark, swirling water and a fog-obscured stand of trees that whisper _forest_. Jim thinks he understands what the artist wanted to convey. Being a gateway to a mystery world, the River's purpose has never been clear. Does it protect humans from those of a different realm, and vice versa, or does it cage both races?

This cafe has always been a popular tourist spot for that reason, being close enough for its customers to stare out over the river and ponder the nature of living in a bordertown without having to place themselves in danger of the unknown. Jim started coming to the cafe soon after it opened, at the age of fifteen, hoping to work up the courage to explore that unknown for himself. He never quite managed it.

A mug of black coffee appears in front of Kirk, accompanied by an inquiry of "Trouble in paradise?"

Jim picks up the mug, almost immediately sloshing coffee over the rim and onto his yellow t-shirt. Sighing, he takes the dishtowel passed along to him and wipes down the counter and himself. This is one person, at least, he can tell his woes to. "Had a fight with Mom."

"Ah." Take-A-Walk's owner pulls the wet towel from Jim's hands. "What did you do this time?"

Jim lifts a blue-eyed glare to meet the owner's amused one. "Why do you always assume it's my fault?"

"Because you're young and impetuous?"

Jim sinks down, drawing the coffee closer to him, the steam from it tickling his nose. Admittedly there's some truth to that, but still… "I was young and impetuous ten years ago."

"Mm."

"I'm an adult now."

"Mmm."

"Stop doing that," he growls.

"Do you know what an adult would do in this situation, Kirk?"

"What?"

"Bow to wisdom."

Jim rolls his eyes. "I'll do that when I meet someone who has it." Then, aghast at his own remark, he nearly slaps a hand over his mouth.

Oh. Oh no. There's nothing worse than Christopher Pike's quietly hurt expression.

Jim is such an idiot.

But Pike doesn't try to defend himself against the jab, only sighing softly through his nose and asking Jim without a fuss, "Which sandwich will it be today?"

"Ham and cheese," Jim murmurs, fully aware that he should apologize. "Look, Mr. Pike…"

Pike stops him by shaking his head in the negative and walking away.

Jim drags both hands over his face, cursing himself under his breath. The woman who had been manning the register comes over to stare openly at him.

"Gaila," he says warily, wondering if he can drink his hot coffee fast enough to forestall it's being dumped over his head.

Gaila tucks a red curl behind a pointed ear, her gaze icy. "What's your problem today, Kirk? Did you wake up this morning and decide to insult nice people?"

Jim winces. "It slipped out."

The woman crosses her arms over her chest, the bangles on her wrists flashing in the sunlight. "Pike may not kick your ass to the curb, but I will."

"I know."

At last, Gaila's gaze warms, and she rolls her eyes. "Listen, if you promise to make a decent apology, I'll bring sugar for your coffee instead of salt."

Jim eyes her speculatively, sipping said sugarless drink. "Shouldn't the boss be protective of the employee, not the other way around? What's with your interest in Pike?"

"Stop being gross. The boss is a silver fox, but I'm not about to jump his bones."

Kirk slaps a hand over his mouth to prevent spraying his drink over the waitress.

Gaila laughs, a merry sound, before she saunters away. Jim squeezes his head, trying to un-see the image of Pike and Gaila _in flagrante delicto_. God, now he won't even be able to look Pike in the eyes. How is he supposed to apologize properly if he can't do that?

The door to the cafe swings open, and the outside breeze pushes its way into the cafe to stir up anything made of paper. A group of people troop inside after it, laden down with video and audio equipment. Chapel's voice rings out, calling to Gaila. Jim freezes.

Jim's boyfriend, McCoy, is the last one of the group, doing a fast sweep of the cafe's layout and clientele once he's past the doorway.

 _Too late_ , thinks Jim just as Leonard spots him and also freezes.

Kirk offers a tentative handwave, feeling a certain doom descending upon him. Did Bones say he would be at the cafe today? Probably. Jim generally doesn't forget anything concerning events happening at Take-A-Walk, so that means he wasn't listening when his boyfriend told him. Bad news. Very, very bad.

He tries for an innocent look as Leonard veers away from his crew, heading his way. "Oh, hey, Bones."

"Jim, what're you doing here?"

Jim notices Chapel and Galia's pitying stares. "I, uh, came for lunch."

"You came for lunch," McCoy repeats flatly. "To Take-A-Walk. On the day I'm interviewing Mr. Pike."

Put like that, it paints an unfortunate picture. "No, it's not because of the interview. I didn't know that—" He clams up at McCoy's sharp inhale.

"So you _weren't_ listening. I knew it!"

Okay, groveling time. Jim grabs McCoy's hand. "Bones, I'm sorry! I'm a terrible boyfriend." When McCoy jerks his hand, Jim leaps up and engulfs the man in a rib-crushing hug. "Boooones, _please_ forgive me."

Leonard starts pushing at him, hissing, "Jim! Jim, stop it, people are staring!"

Jim uses his best tactic, tucking his face into the crook of McCoy's neck and whimpering.

The man goes slack. "All right," he says in a choked voice a second later, "I forgive you."

Jim gives his boyfriend a smacking kiss on the cheek and releases him.

"I hate you," Leonard declares, flushed bright red.

Jim shakes his index finger at him. "But I love you."

"Go away."

Jim blinks, shifts on his feet. "Okay. I can leave."

McCoy sighs. "No, that's not—never mind. Enjoy your lunch." Then he glares hard at Jim. "And stay outta my shoot."

Back in the day, before they started dating and when Jim wanted McCoy's attention, that is basically all he did—worm his way into the documentary to annoy McCoy. The end result was worth the trouble since over the course of those six months he slid into McCoy's heart at the same time.

Maybe Leonard is remembering that too. His look is strange. But before Jim can ask him what's on his mind, he harrumphs, seeming to collect himself, and leaves Jim to one side of the cafe.

Jim looks around, spies Pike leaning against the wall by the swinging kitchen door. Pike had been watching him, he's sure of it, but the man just raises an eyebrow at Jim when Jim meets his eyes. Pike pushes off the wall to greet the filming crew.

Jim slides back onto his stool with a sigh.

Gaila sets a sugar dispenser in front of him. "Enjoy." A while later, she brings him the sandwich he ordered with a side of fruit. When he mentions that french fries are his usual side dish fare, she explains, "I hear your cholesterol has been high lately."

He balks. "Who told you that?"

She points to the booth where Pike and McCoy are, heads bent together over a notebook. "Nobody. Boyfriend A told Dad B."

In other words, he's never going to see another fry at Take-A-Walk. Gaila shakes her head, leaving Kirk to bemoan his fate.

He inhales his lunch, leaves enough money on the counter for the bill and a generous tip, and begs Gaila for a to-go cup of soda. Jim intends to spend the rest of his day figuring out how to make the cholesterol reader at home say good things. What was it Scotty said about magic monkeying with technology? Well, he's got access to a prime source of magic. Spock can cast a spell on the damn thing.

He almost hits the threshold of the cafe when a word catches his ear.

Or, to be more precise, a name: _George_.

Jim joins the crowd of customers that have gathered by the booth where the interview is being conducted. He positions himself behind a lanky elf with a nose ring and a human who bathed in cologne.

"What about humans like Mr. Kirk?" McCoy is asking his interviewee in a tone of voice that reminds Jim of a newscaster. "Kirk disappeared right after his second son was born. Some people think he skipped town. Others say he crossed the River. Which do you believe is more probable?"

Jim stiffens without meaning to, nearly puncturing the styrofoam cup in his hand with his thumbnail.

Pike looks at no one but McCoy. "That's a tough question. You would have to have known George to give a solid answer. He was… a legend, in some ways."

"He was older than you, correct?"

"By five years. I knew him, but I wouldn't have called us friends." Pike's head dips slightly as the man looks at his hands clasped in front of him. "I remember that he used to ride all over town on a motorcycle. Always on the move. Always with a destination in mind." When Pike looks up, his gaze pins Jim's direction quite easily. "Like father, like son, I suppose."

Jim thins his mouth, not certain if he's just been insulted.

Leonard stills briefly, then his nostrils flare. "Did he mention leaving Riverside?"

To hear his boyfriend ask that so easily makes Jim hate Leonard for a split second. But he knows McCoy isn't trying to be callous. If anything, he probably thinks digging out the truth is the best thing he can do for Jim. Closure, and all that.

As much as Jim would love closure, he realizes he is also terrified of finding out the truth.

Take-A-Walk's owner shakes his head, despite saying, "George Kirk tried his whole life to leave Riverside. Something always brought him back."

Jim pushes through the crowd to stand at the front. "So what? He wanted to leave. Not everyone is happy living in one place their whole lives."

Leonard's head whips around. "Jim." Then he looks to Chapel, communicating something to her silently.

Pike holds Jim's gaze. "When your father met your mother, he stopped trying for a while. But if you ask me, whatever pushed at him refused to stay quiet. He couldn't give up."

Jim works to swallow a lump lodged in his throat. "Then what happened? Did he make it out? Did Riverside let him go?"

Pike just looks at him.

Jim moves next to the booth, shouldering aside the assistant with the sound mic. "I want an answer."

"I don't have one."

"Then why are you talking like you do!" Kirk's near-shout startles everyone.

Leonard reaches for Jim's arm. "Jim, calm down."

"Where's my dad, huh? Go on. Tell me!"

Pike's face is nothing but sadness. "Probably the only place he could go, son. The place he wanted to be."

* * *

"Jim!"

Jim doesn't heed the plea to stop. He skids down the gravelly bank. At the bottom, both of his shoes sink deep into the mud.

"Wait! Jim, wait for me!"

When he reaches the water's edge, he clenches his fists and stares at the river in loathing. He doesn't know who he hates: his father, himself, or the unconcerned realm on the opposite bank.

Jim's boyfriend nearly knocks Jim over when he comes skidding down the bank. Jim reaches out without thought to keep McCoy from falling over.

In turn, Leonard grips his shoulders painfully tight. "It's my fault, Jim. I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't have—"

"Is that all I am to you?" Jim interrupts, demanding, needing to vent his anger somewhere—or on someone. "The product of a sad fairy tale, or some shit like that? Ah, how about this title for your next publication: Kids Abandoned by Their Fey Father!"

Jim regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. The pain in McCoy's eyes matches the pain in Jim's heart. He swallows, "Bones."

"It's okay, Jim. I deserved that. I crossed a line. I'm sorry."

The thing is, Jim doesn't really think he did. "I… just. I hate hearing about him." He swallows harder. "I get it, Bones, I do. George Kirk is part of your research."

After a minute, McCoy releases him. "It's not just that."

Jim can't help it. His gaze shifts back to the water. "Do you really think he went there?"

"Jim, look at me."

Jim closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he's staring into McCoy's face. He watches the man take a deep breath, as if drawing in courage for some unknown reason.

"I know you… have a difficult time hearing about your father, but I think finding the truth is important to you."

 _Not if it tears my heart out, Bones._ Jim licks his lower lip, keeps that thought to himself.

"Jim, what Pike said, I believe him. You're more like your father than you think. George couldn't leave Riverside. Neither can you. If we can figure out why, maybe we can break you free from whatever keeps you here."

"We?"

Leonard presses his mouth flat for a second. "Spock and I have been working on this together."

Jim can't think of anything to say except "Why?"

The man huffs. "Really? We're dating, and you don't know why?"

A frown creases his forehead. "Because… you want to have a date outside the city?"

McCoy shoves his shoulder, not hard enough to hurt or make him stumble, just enough to inform him he's a special brand of idiot. "For god's sake. To make you _happy_. You want to see the world. We want to go with you." The _dumbass_ under Leonard's breath isn't flattering but Jim smiles, if a bit tremulously.

"That would be awesome, Bones." Something occurs to Kirk, then. "But Spock… isn't he more bound to this area than I am?"

Jim's boyfriend sighs, an aggrieved sound. "No rules seem to apply to him, human or fey. Spock has a list longer than my elbow of places he wants to visit. I'd say he agreed to help you for his own selfish reasons but he is genuinely concerned that magic wants to keep you here."

Jim blinks. "That sounds ominous."

"Yeah, it does." McCoy turns, marching doggedly up the river bank with Jim in tow. "So let's get you away from Riverside before it eats you or something."

"I love you too," Jim says, a little more cheekily than he intends.

McCoy shoots him an unimpressed look. "Hurry up. You need to apologize to Mr. Pike."

"I thought he'd duck the punch," mutters Jim.

"Frankly, I'm all for letting him punch you back." McCoy sighs a moment later. "Ah, Jim. I think you hurt his heart more than his face. You should fix it."

"I will, Bones."

McCoy slips an arm around Kirk's shoulders, and together the men return to the cafe.

Christopher Pike is a lot more forgiving than Jim ever would be. Of course, the fact that Jim ends up hugging him might be a deciding factor (and, seriously, how could he not with Bones staring sternly at him from over Pike's shoulder, expecting him to do it). Then Pike pats his back, and the world rights itself again.

Pike finishes the interview with McCoy, sans George Kirk, and Jim helps Gaila tend customers as punishment for his wrong-doing at her insistence. By the time, he leaves the cafe, McCoy and crew are long gone. Gaila follows him out to his motorcycle, as her shift is also over, pausing by his side long enough to look him over and ask him, oddly, "Do you know why I came here?"

"Because Pike offered you a job?" he guesses.

"Because sometimes where you're born isn't where you belong."

That leaves him staring at nothing long after she's gone.

* * *

Jim has learned when to recognize his head is a little messed up. He's also learned to hide it. Maybe that is why he doesn't go home to McCoy and Spock right away.

The Lantern is a former haunt of his, one of three bars within the city limits that would welcome anybody regardless of what they were. For a while, it was a place to gawk at Truebloods getting drunk off their asses and, if one of them was amendable, a chance to hook up. Then ownership changed four years back, and the new owner, with his ties to the Pack, no longer allows elf-kind to darken the bar's doorstep.

It's still a decent place to grab a drink, and no one will ever think to look for him there.

Tonight, Jim wants—no, _needs_ —this reminder of his past, which at times was pretty ugly. Forgetting who he used to be means he is liable to backslide. His life is meaningful now, he tells himself, as he walks into the Lantern's smoky, dimly lit lounge. Just because old scars still have the power to hurt doesn't make him weak.

He orders a whiskey and settles in for an hour, savoring the flavor and the burn along his throat. McCoy texts him in the meantime, and he promises to pick up the ingredients for Spock's vegetarian lasagna on the way home.

Once Jim feels more like himself, he signals the bartender to take his empty glass away and lays his jacket across his stool, tucking his phone in his back pocket. He makes a trip to the restroom, returning to the bar to be met with a small surprise, something odd stuck inside one of his jacket pockets when he puts the jacket on. Removing the object with a frown, he discovers it isn't paper, exactly, but a folded cocktail napkin with the Lantern's logo.

Red writing stains the napkin, stating with bold certainty:

 _bring an end to old love_  
 _kindle fresh desire_  
 _you and I shall be bound forever_

It's nothing but a simple rhyme. No flourish of a signature at the end. No indication of teasing or joking.

Yet in the aftermath of reading the words, Jim is left feeling dizzy.

Someone obviously slipped the napkin into his jacket while he was gone. It isn't that fact, however, which causes a chill to pass down his spine. Jim is certain neither Spock nor McCoy has been to this bar before, and absolutely not in the past ten minutes. The absence of their energy, which is like sunlight to his senses, remains a cold weight across his shoulders.

No, there is no possible way the note could be from them. But he recognizes the handwriting. That's what chills him. If this letter did not originate with his partners, then neither did the previous two.

Beginning to feel a bit sick to his stomach, Jim's gaze skips around the bar. He senses it then, a gaze on him, tracking his movement, but no one outwardly seems interested in him.

He flags down the bartender. "I found this in my jacket," he says, pushing the napkin across the bar. "Did you see who put it there?"

"I wasn't paying attention," the bartender admits. He adds after skimming the note, "Man, that's a hell of a thing to give somebody."

"I know, right?" Jim balls the napkin up. "I guess I'll just pitch it."

"I recommend washing your hands after you do."

Jim frowns. "Why?"

"You never know what's in people's blood," says the man, turning away afterward, his head wagging back and forth in disgust.

Jim thumbs loose a corner of the napkin-ball to look at the red letters again, recognizable now to his eyes as much too blotchy to be written in regular ink. A blood message. How had he missed that?

He shudders and promptly chucks the offensive thing into the men's bathroom trashcan, where he washes his hands several times.

He's drying his hands on his jeans on his way out, paying so little attention to his surroundings that he walks into a person.

The woman stumbles, and Jim catches her.

Her face lights up. "Jim!"

Jim releases her. Bobbed brown hair, wide brown eyes, only about as tall as his chin. "Hello?"

"It's Jan," she insists. "Jan Lester!"

Oh great, he thinks. "Jan… wow, been a long time."

"Oh, Jim, I know."

When the woman reaches for his hand, he steps back. Though she keeps smiling, the friendliness in her gaze disappears. Intuition rings like an alarm inside Jim's head: _Something wrong, something wrong._

Her cold gaze is suddenly tear-bright, like an actress turning on the waterworks for the camera. "You don't remember me, do you?"

"I…" How is he supposed to respond?

"You don't." Jan's voice becomes accusatory. This time she reaches out with the command, "Come to me. If you come to me, you'll remember."

He's as shocked as if she had issued a summons, for his body obeys without question. First, his left foot slides forward, then the right. Shock and confusion devolves into horror. "What the hell?" he chokes out.

Jan looks smug. "The spell worked."

The combination of panic and adrenaline douse Kirk's body like cold water, helping him turn his body aside at the last moment. He moves awkwardly, stiff-legged, past Lester and the booths, out the Lantern's back entrance to the street, where he chooses a direction at random.

Spell? Spell? His brain repeats the word endlessly, making him break out in a cold sweat. No way. Not possible.

But his heart cannot seem to stop pounding. He keeps his momentum, though he stumbles once or twice, going down the sloped, empty street to where the traffic makes a steady rattle at a busy intersection. His fingers don't want to cooperate in handling his cell phone. He drops it to the pavement. Starting to bend over to get it, he hears the scrape of shoes behind him and thinks, _Shit, keep going._

There's something definitely wrong with him, battling for control of his body.

He can barely make out the line of cars at the red light through the darkness but is hopeful when someone latches onto the back of his jacket to jerk his gait out of sync and spin him around with a furious strength.

It's Jan, now fisting her hands into the front of his t-shirt. "Where do you think you're going, Jim? You can't leave. You're mine."

That final declaration knocks Jim's thoughts awry, a magic not his own enveloping him, smothering his will even while his brain screams in denial. "Yours," his mouth repeats dutifully.

The woman slides her hands from his chest to his hair and digs in there. Jim isn't able to stop her from pulling his head forward and kissing him. She only releases him after his mouth stays slack against hers.

The anger in her face slowly fades, morphing into a childish kind of delight. "I missed you, Jimmy."

 _Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? Don't. Please, stop this._

But Kirk cannot speak a word.

"Now we can be together." She presses her lips chastely to his cheek. "Forever."

That's like a slamming of a door in Jim's mind, a sealed fate, cutting him off from himself. He ceases to think.

Jan smiles once more, leaning into her docile lover's side, slipping her arm through his, and says, "Let's go home."

* * *

 **Some notes:**

1\. Jan – aka Janice Lester – is introduced in TOS. It's canon that she and Kirk were in a relationship at the Academy but broke up due to strain on their relationship, as Janice believed a disparity between genders at the Academy kept her from succeeding while Kirk had no problems. That may have been true, as Kirk seemed to acknowledge it when they met years later in the episode "Turnabout Intruder". Well, long story short, Janice lured her ex into a situation where she could take over his body via a consciousness-swapping device. Chaos ensued. She's just as crazy here.

2\. I've been a fan of fey things for over twenty years. In my teens, I would read anything that mentioned Faerie, and eventually came across an anthology series I particularly enjoyed, _Welcome to Bordertown._ It allowed various authors to write in the same world-scape, building a seamless continuity over several short stories and poems. In that world, Faerie had reappeared, magic and all, in the modern times. The town closest to that realm became known as Bordertown, a somewhat lawless, very unique city for misfits both fey and human. I thought our cast of characters would fit well in a place like that.


	3. Part Three

**The rating has been raised from Teen to Mature out of caution. There are a couple of parts early on in this chapter which may be uncomfortable or even triggery for the reader: non-consensual kissing and attempted molestation. In order to showcase the gravity of Kirk's situation, I felt these parts were unavoidable; however, they are not the main theme of the chapter or written in prolonged, gruesome detail, and are primarily contained to two scenes. I have marked those scenes with asterisks. If you wish to skip them, please look for the *** at the start of the scene. Then scroll past that scene.**

* * *

Jim dreams in fragments. Two dark-haired men, one with ears ending in delicate points, occupy a couch together, talking in the pre-dawn hours of the morning. After, the human paces an invisible track around the room, a cell phone against his ear. When one call ends, he immediately begins another. Elsewhere the elfin man cuts a solitary figure on the balcony, eyes closed, face uplifted to a starry sky.

The pieces of Jim's dream shift into a reasonable order. The repeated phone calls and pacing of one lead to the contemplation of the sky by the other, which ends with the late-night conversation. Something obviously worries this pair.

* * *

***While Jim Kirk dreams, Jan Lester unlocks the door to her small two-bedroom house and escorts her boyfriend inside, telling him to wait for her on the couch. When he complies, she goes to her kitchen to make them dinner, humming to herself.

There are apparent complications to placing a person under a spell. Even among magic users, the common expectation is that control is something one might try to exercise over a runaway train, not over a lover. The result of Kirk's unnatural tether to Lester's will comes at the price of his spirit. Jan had been warned about this, which she contemplates while preparing the first meal they will share together as a couple.

When the food is ready and Jan has beckoned Jim to the dining table, she lovingly feeds him his first bite of steak. He only chews and swallows it once she reminds him, "Eat." Thereafter it becomes somewhat of a fascination for Jan to watch Kirk go through the motions of feeding himself. Everything about his movements, from wielding his fork and knife to drinking wine, is precise with little energy wasted; none of it is indicative of what the man might feel, like a hunger that needs satisfying or pleasure at a tasty meal. She is somewhat discomfited by the lacking of conversation from her dining companion, but the night is young yet for discovering all that the spell can do.

And, more than anything, Jan wants to find out what else she can make Jim do.

With Kirk's meal gone and hers half-eaten, Jan leads Kirk back to the couch, where the true crux of the problem becomes obvious after a few fervent kisses. A spellbound body obeys only as best it can, but when the spirit inside the body is dampened, perhaps even missing, there are ways the body simply cannot respond.

She slides her thigh out from between her lover's legs, where the lack of response is the most disappointing, and sits beside him on the couch with a resigned huff.

After a minute, she commands, "Hold me."

Kirk wraps his arms around her. Jan settles against his chest with a small sigh. While this isn't the intimate evening she imagined, there is a certain sense of contentment that comes from being in this particular man's arms.

* * *

 _***Jim, where are you?_

Jim lunges out of sleep in an ink-dark room to the echo of a voice inside his head, sweating and making odd little noises as he breathes. The person who stirs beside him with a sleepy "Jim?" is not the owner of the voice that had woken him.

When Jan Lester pushes herself into a sitting position, one strap of her nightgown sliding off her shoulder, Jim remembers what happened.

The letters. Lester. Her spell.

He's in a bed with her. Nausea rocks him.

Jan catches Jim by the arm before he can bolt out of bed. Her order to "Stay" kills his instinct to flee.

"Lay down, Jim," she adds.

Jim's body flops down across the bedcovers. He cannot seem to drag enough air into his lungs. Numbly, he thinks he has pajama bottoms and his underwear on. That little note of hysteria inside him builds.

It takes effort to find his voice, but when he does, he pleads, "Jan, this is wrong. Please, let me go."

"Why is it wrong? I just want you to understand that I can be good to you."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because you needed me—and I love you."

When Jan leans into his line of sight, Jim's eyes slam shut. At the touch of her mouth, he falls, another dream rising up to catch him.

* * *

In Riverside's shadowy slums, somewhere faintly recognizable from Jim's past, a man in silver sunglasses has an arm pressed to a street kid's throat. The man taps the top edge of a cell phone against the kid's temple none-too-gently, the sticker on the back of the phone's casing plainly visible. The sticker seems familiar.

"Where did you get this?"

"I didn't steal it," the kid insists. "I found it!"

The shadow stretched across the pair ripples. That darkness is not empty, belonging to a crook-necked man, who in a deep voice responds, "Where?"

"Behind The Lantern." There is a slight wildness to the kid's eyes now, the kind that usually accompanies fear. Something about this not-shadow is more frightening than the silver-eyed man cutting off his air supply.

A bright light blinks across the space unexpectedly, a car passing by with its high beams on. For the briefest second, the not-shadow gains a face—the same face from the first dream, the man who was star-gazing.

"Take me to The Lantern, Mr. Mitchell," that man says now.

"Not a good idea," Mitchell counters, starting to lift up his sunglasses. "The Pack catches wind of you being there, and you're d—"

" _Darling, wake up._ "

The dream cannot withstand the voice, being made of power, and breaks apart like an old film strip dissolving under a hot light. In the real world, a rather terrifying reality, Jim Kirk obediently opens his eyes.

Jan brushes her lips against his cheek before bouncing out of bed. "Good morning! Would you like some breakfast?"

"Yes, please," Jim's mouth responds. That is the only acceptable answer she will have, and when Jan Lester wishes for something, her will becomes everything.

"Clean yourself up," she tells him. "I bought you new clothes. Wear them. The clothes are on the end of the dresser."

Jim levers himself out of bed to do as told.

* * *

With breakfast finished, Jan seems in no hurry to go anywhere. She chatters to fill an awkward silence, the sound of her voice a constant, throbbing beat against Kirk's temples. Part of him absorbs what she is saying; another part is too detached to care. That latter half is seeking something else, a spark to ignite itself with, to escape. When sunlight catches on the spoon propped against an empty bowl in front of Jim, it sends Jan's voice away completely.

"It looks bad for Kirk," Mitchell is saying, squared off over a darkened computer screen with another person sans sunglasses. The look in his eyes is ruthless. "He left with company."

Mitchell's opponent looks haggard, his eyes seeming overly large in his pale, unshaven face. But there is a fire in those eyes to match the man's fiery rebuff: "My god, are you blind? He was kidnapped!"

"Check again, McCoy. Kirk looks drunk off his ass. He kissed some chick behind the bar then strolled away with her. You know what the average guy calls that? A hook up."

Mitchell dances out of range of McCoy's fist, putting a suitable distance between them with the warning, "Try that again, and I'll take you _and_ Pointy Ears down to the station."

"You bastard," seethes the other man. "You said you'd help!"

McCoy's partner comes into view, flanking McCoy and leveling an unimpressed stare at Mitchell, leaving no doubt which side he is on.

"I brought you this far!" Mitchell snaps back before flattening both his tone and expression. "Use your brain. What I just described is the normal explanation any cop would think after watching that video."

"Then what would be the opinion of an officer who deals with the abnormal?" McCoy's partner asks.

"Kirk was caught by some kind of compulsion spell and fighting it. He dropped his phone while running but kept going because he knew he needed to find a safe place, a public place. He must have been scared shitless."

McCoy sways on his feet. He murmurs, "Spock," when his partner steadies him with a hand to the small of his back.

Spock returns his attention to Mitchell. "How do we identify the person who ensorcelled Jim?"

"That bitch in the alley looks like the same one who was tailing Kirk a couple of days back. If she has a record, it's possible to id her by a description—" The cop's mouth presses flat. "— _if_ you have the right resources and a department who cares."

"Then—"

McCoy interrupts Spock, his throat working. "Jim didn't tell us he was being followed."

Mitchell offers up a humorless smile. "Kirk probably thought I was messing with him." His smile fades, then, replaced by a sentiment much colder and more disinterested. "None of what I said means I can help you. My advice? File a missing person's report in two days if your boyfriend doesn't turn up." He turns from the pair and walks away.

"That's it?" yells McCoy, fury bringing back some color to his face. "You just turn your back when your friend's in trouble?"

Mitchell stops but doesn't turn around. " _Ex_ -friend. I only helped you because, one, you begged me and, two, I owed Kirk. He and I—we're square now, for good. Tell him that… if you manage to save him."

After the cop is gone, McCoy looks to Spock. "What do we do now?"

The dream ends there. No, not a dream, Kirk realizes finally, a vision. About _him_.

As Jan's kitchen comes back into focus, his ability to think does too. For some reason, with that final image of Spock and McCoy lingering in his mind's eye, he can see past the haze long enough to grasp at fragments of knowledge and form one whole fact: those two men care about him. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, they believe Jim should be with them, instead of where he is now with Jan.

 _Something's wrong_ , he thinks desperately. _Why am I like this?_ It's difficult for him to remember the reason.

Jim finds himself physically swaying in his seat, like a dowsing pendant stirred by the magnetic pull of particular kind of energy but not quite able to pinpoint the location of what has attracted it.

Jan must sense something about him, for she reaches across the table separating them and places a hand on his arm, which stills his movement. She watches him in part concern, part doubt. "Jim? It's okay. I'm here."

"But where am I?" he asks.

"Where you belong," she replies. "By my side." After a moment, the woman encourages him, "Don't fight me, Jim. Don't think. Just be with me."

And so Jim has no choice but to let the door in his mind close upon him again.

* * *

Janice Lester has had many boyfriends, all of them falling short of her standards in some way, barring one. Though they may have been a very young couple, Jim was the best boyfriend Jan ever had, which is why it felt serendipitous that she ran into and recognized Winona Kirk. It seemed like the gods speaking in hopes to rekindle her faith in love after so many failed romances. She vividly remembers Jim Kirk as being kind and attentive. Jim, sweet in his caring, never one to ridicule a person for their ambitions. A man who treats a woman like an equal. She believes if her parents had not forced a school transfer after moving to the opposite side of the city, she and Jim would have been a couple for a long, long time—perhaps even married by now.

She made certain to educate herself on those lost years. She knew Jim always felt apart from his peers, given his innate gift to recognize the good fortune of others but people's inability to accept that about him. She personally never drew attention to her family's dabbling in magic, thinking people might treat her unkindly too, but that mindset changed when she was in college. Jan learned to appreciate the power that came with practicing magic, especially when it made her stand out among other classmates and other women. She should have realized then that she could never be satisfied with an ordinary man as a lover.

In becoming reacquainted with Jim Kirk, she discovered the man was stronger in spirit than the boy, making no apologies for his gift of magic and seeming quite comfortable, cocky even, with his existence. There was a period of time in his youth that Jim did use his foresight for personal gain, but then again Jan has been no saint herself. But most importantly, her quarry appeared to still care about people, even when they gave him no thought in return.

So Jan settled on having Kirk, and then it became a simple matter of sussing out his habits—and, of course, dealing with that slight problem of him being a taken man.

At first, she thought she might not be able to forgive him for loving someone else, but it turns out the odd arrangement between Kirk and his two live-in lovers could not be his fault. When the Blood start spending time with humans, most of whom are half in love with their arrogant race anyway, it becomes inevitable for a human to fall under the spell of one of them. According to Jan's source, Kirk's half-blood lover, Spock, is an extremely coldhearted bastard, is in fact so selfish that he doesn't care if he prevents someone from finding their true love. For many Highborns, having one human fawn over them would be plenty of entertainment but, as her source insisted, Spock becomes bored very easily and therefore switches his affections between Kirk and the other human male at his leisure.

The mere thought of any person being used so ill makes Jan's blood boil. Well, Jim is safe with her now.

She smiles to herself as she thinks this, barely engaged in the morning news report despite outward appearances. Next to her, Jim is the one who stares with blank persistence at the television, never stirring no matter the program or commercial. Jan wishes she could do something about that unfocused glaze to his eyes. When she touches his skin, she can feel that he isn't an empty shell; but after a while, spurred by a mounting uneasiness, she has to check again to be certain nothing has changed.

The news report ends at the same time her cell phone rings. Jan answers the call with a cheerful "Hello!"

"Jan? This is Winona Kirk."

Jan is unable to stop the sudden pounding of her heart. The fingers of her left hand tingle painfully as she twists them into the material of her skirt. Her voice doesn't fail her, though, smoothing out to a calmer octave. "Good morning, Mrs. Kirk. It's lovely to hear from you."

"Jan, I'm really sorry to bother so early but—"

No, she thinks, followed by, _of course_.

"—have you heard from my son Jim?"

She draws a tiny breath, working to keep her voice pleasant. "Actually, I did. I owe you for passing along my number to him. We met for drinks for last night and, well—he's here!" she ends brightly.

"Where?"

She doesn't like the sharpness of the woman's tone, but does not allow that dislike to show. "At my house." She turns her head, looking directly at Kirk, as she raises her voice as if calling across the room. "Jim! Jim, your mother is on the phone. Just a moment," she tells Winona, "I'll put him on." Then Jan mutes the phone.

"Look at me," she commands Jim.

Kirk faces her.

"Take the phone and speak to your mother normally. Tell her everything's fine."

She transfers her unmuted phone to Kirk, who raises it to his ear. With the phone's speaker on, nothing about the conversation can be hidden from her.

"Hello?" Kirk says.

"Jim?" Winona's voice softens with obvious concern. "Jim, it's Mom. Are you okay?"

"Everything's fine, Mom."

Jan's heart jumps to her throat when Winona doesn't respond right away. She leans forward but cannot make out the nature of the muffled sounds in the background.

Winona clears her throat suddenly. "Jimmy, I… was on my way to the supermarket. Do you need anything?"

"Everything's fine, Mom."

Jan jerks the phone out of Kirk's hand and mutes it. "Tell her you don't need anything! Tell her you're with me. Tell her you're happy here!" Then she shoves the phone back into his hand.

Kirk repeats obediently, "I don't need anything. I am with Jan. I am happy here."

Jan wrenches at her skirt, upset. How could he sound so bland? Didn't she specify that he talk _normally_?

But Winona responds at length, with brisker regularity, "I'm glad to hear that, Jim. Would you like to bring her to dinner? I think she should meet the family."

Jan releases her skirt, absently smoothing out the wrinkles she caused. It worked! Of course it worked.

She cannot help but smile as she retrieves her phone. "Mrs. Kirk, we would love to join you for dinner. What time?"

She and Winona Kirk discuss the matter calmly, and by the time they hang up, Jan is convinced she made the right choice to take Jim as hers. His mother is on their side.

She looks into Jim's blank eyes, taking his hand. "I knew it. We're meant to be."

* * *

Jan Lester's happiness is a distant thing to Kirk. In his latest vision, McCoy has found his way to the farmstead. Jim sees their family's living room, where McCoy stands at the elbow of a woman. He recognizes her instantly—his mother. Something that feels like guilt overtakes Kirk for a moment.

Then McCoy says, "Do you believe us now?"

"I don't know." Winona drops her hands—and the cordless phone between them—to her lap.

"Jim sounded wrong. Don't tell me he didn't!"

"He never said 'peanut butter'." Winona Kirk's jaw has a stubborn set to it as she stares up at the dark-haired man. "I told you, that's been our code word since he was little. Jim uses it if he needs me to come get him."

"A human under a compulsion spell only speaks as his master allows."

The vision shifts to another man in the room, McCoy's Spock.

Winona doesn't look pleased to have him in her home. "Have you ever placed a human under such a spell, Mr. Spock?"

"Negative."

"Then how would you know what the human can and cannot do?"

"I speak the truth. As you must be aware, telling a lie is difficult for one of my kind."

"Stop it, both of you," McCoy interrupts, crossing his arms over his chest. "Mrs. Kirk, before you start judging someone else, I suggest you take a long look at yourself. Janice Lester was _your_ choice for Jim."

"I only asked for her phone number!"

McCoy isn't amused. "I don't care. I want Jim out of that witch's hands. Do you realize what she could do to him—or make him do—against his will?"

Jim's mother blanches.

Spock steps forward. "To Leonard's point, arguing amongst ourselves is futile. Your conversation with Miss Lester has confirmed where we suspected Jim to be. Now we must act."

McCoy rakes a hand through his hair. "As much as the idea appeals to me, can we just bust down somebody's door and accuse them of witchcraft without getting arrested?"

Winona shakes her head. "It wouldn't matter if she has my son under a spell. He won't leave her."

"And if we antagonize her," Spock adds, "she may remove Jim to another location, somewhere we would have more difficulty locating them."

McCoy looks at Spock oddly. "Could she take Jim out of Riverside?"

Spock doesn't answer that, continuing on as he returns McCoy's stare, "Our most logical course of action is infiltration. However, entering another's domain is not as simple as it seems, particularly when it is warded as Miss Lester's residence appears to be."

"Not for me, Spock." McCoy closes his eyes. Jim's heart aches for this man, for some reason. "I'll go. Maybe I can… bargain with her. Make a trade."

A new voice cuts in, then, as immediately recognizable as Winona's. "You can't bargain with a psycho. Besides, I have an idea." Sam Kirk crosses the room to stand with the others. To Spock, he says, "First, breaking into Lester's house? I can help with that."

* * *

Jan must be running out of patience at having a zombie for a boyfriend, Jim decides, when the shroud over his mind retreats enough to allow him to think on his own again. While Jim covertly assesses his surroundings (mainly targeting and memorizing every potential escape route) and pretends to listen, Jan issues a long-winded warning that essentially boils down to "Don't think about leaving, or I'll lock you away permanently."

Jim believes her, but that doesn't prevent him informing her with as much arrogance as he can muster, "You'd regret it."

Her face pinches. "What's that mean?"

"It means I bet boy-toys aren't as fun for you if they can't cower at your feet."

Lester's face reddens. "H-How dare you! I'm not like that!"

"You mean like this?" Jim retorts, spreading his fingers wide to indicate their situation. "Not the kind of person who wants to control other people?"

"No!"

"Then why are you doing it to me!" he demands, bringing a fist down on the table in front of him.

Jan jumps away from the kitchen counter, where she had placed a mug of coffee in the microwave to be heated, and for a second, Jim cringes with the certainty that he is a great, big idiot who is about to become a mental vegetable thanks to his penchant for antagonizing an enemy with the upper hand.

In the next instant, he's saved by the doorbell, quite literally, which would have been funny to Jim except that it occurs to him any distraction could work in his favor. He may be scared to his core that Jan can and will keep him locked up in her house, serving her for her amusement, but along with that fear, hot anger has finally surfaced. Lester doesn't know it yet, doesn't know the true _Jim Kirk_ , or she wouldn't play this game of roulette by continually bringing him back to consciousness. Maybe his acquiescence is somehow part of her grand delusion.

Jan orders, "Wait here," which is unfortunate because then Jim finds himself glued to his seat without his expressly willing it so.

Damn. How _is_ he going to get out of this? And what is that nagging feeling he's forgotten something important to him?

All is quiet for a minute until Jim hears a voice—Jan's—raised in the hallway beside the kitchen. Her cry of "What are you doing? Get out of my house!" is more than sufficient to catch and hold his attention.

Oh, right. She didn't order him not to _speak_. "Hey you, in here!" he cries. "Help—"

The smell of ozone is barely enough warning before a storm of hot rage and wild magic slams through the house, into the kitchen then veers toward Jim, just ahead of the source fueling it. Jim nearly falls out of his chair, caught between the impact of that storm and Lester's spell holding him in place, becoming no more significant than flotsam in a maelstrom. His body lurches alongside his brain, both left sizzling in the aftermath as if having been struck by lightning. His senses become all the more disoriented when he is physically is hauled upright by a pair of strong, angry hands and chucked neatly backward into the nearest wall.

The pain of connecting with the unforgiving surface is simultaneously bone-jarring and mentally clarifying, allowing Kirk immediately afterward to register the man now crowded into his personal space, pinning his upper torso to the wall.

" _Sam?_ " he says, shocked.

"What the hell is wrong with you!" Sam Kirk roars.

As Jim opens his mouth again, intending to shout out his joy at his brother's arrival, Sam yanks the younger Kirk from the wall, only to shove him right back into it, _harder_.

Jim is so stunned, all that comes out his mouth is "Ow!"

Which might have been the point of intercepting the happy exclamation, because Jan is suddenly there, trying to force her way in between the men, hitting and slapping at the arm of the intruder in her home.

"Get off him!" she yells. "Get off or I'll call the cops!"

Sam doesn't bother to spare the raging woman a glance, his gaze fixed entirely on Jim. "I should kick your ass, little brother," the man growls, pressing down with the arm bracketing Jim to the wall. Magic is bearing down too, and building up, with intent.

The last time Sam was this pissed… Jim doesn't finish that thought.

Jan had frozen at how Sam identified Jim, and now her gaze now darts uncertainly from one Kirk to the other.

"This the Lester girl?" Sam says, his voice no less menacing for having dropped an octave, as he tips his head at Jan, who flushes, releases Sam, and takes a long step back.

"I'm Jim's girlfriend," Jan answers defensively before Jim can.

"Don't give two shits, sweetheart," Sam counters with a slashing glance her way. "Whoever my baby bro shacks up with is his business." Sam's attention returns to Jim, who is gifted with one last hard shove at the wall. Then Sam backs off a few steps, watching Jim sag on his own two feet, expression settling into its usual impassivity.

The magic, though, is altogether different. It's starting to choke Jim's lungs as it gathers and grows. Odd, but Jim doesn't think Jan can sense it.

Sam goes on, "But it _is_ my business when he freaks out Mom. She thinks you disappeared, asshole. Just like George."

"Oh," Jan says, then again more calmly, "oh." Her eyes widen comically. "I'm so sorry, Sam—is it Sam, isn't it?—I assumed Winona told her family that we talked this morning. Oh dear," she goes on with sickening concern, "have you been looking for Jim all this time?"

"Yeah." Sam eyes Jim. "You should have texted me."

"Jim lost his cell phone," Jan explains.

"No," Jim croaks, "Sam, that's not true. I'm not w—"

"Now, Jim," Jan interrupts him, smiling despite the clear warning in her eyes, "do not upset your brother. Clearly there was a _misunderstanding_."

The truth, which would certainly upset Sam, sticks in Jim's throat. He tries in vain to make it come out but cannot, only able to repeat kind of mindlessly, "Sam—S-Sam—"

Sam's gaze is dismissive of Jim as he turns back to Jan. "What did Mom say?"

Jan's smile grows. "She invited us to dinner at the farm tomorrow."

The older Kirk grunts, such a Sam thing to do that tears of frustration prick Jim's eyes. He's still fighting for words to make Sam understand he needs him when the magic reaches its saturation point.

Across the kitchen, Jan's microwave flips on with a high-pitched whine. Jan and Jim start at the unexpectedness of it. Sam does not. Then the electrical whining turns frenetic, something inside the microwave starting to rattle. Jan hurries toward it.

"Suppose I'll see you at the house," Jim's brother drawls, raising his voice slightly to carry over the screaming microwave.

"Yes, of course," Jan acknowledges—just as the microwave door flies open of its own accord, spitting out the mug and glass plate in a spray of deadly shrapnel. The woman screams, flinging her arms at the last second to protect her face.

Jim leaps for his brother, grabbing onto Sam's arm with the hiss, "Don't blow us up!"

It's weird but in that moment, despite years of witnessing similar incidents, Kirk finally comprehends Scotty's perspective on the River's effect on their city. Magic and mechanics simply don't mesh, and most assuredly not around Sam. Sam only has to unleash a portion of the magic in him, always unreliable at best, and everything in the vicinity which cannot absorb it goes heartstoppingly BOOM.

Except, the targeting of the microwave? That's pretty specific and new to Jim, and still very _weird_.

Jim realizes he is wasting time. He tells his brother in a rush while Jan is distracted, "Get me out of here. She has me under a—"

"Spell," Sam finishes, finally meeting Jim's gaze. "We know."

Relief makes Jim weak in the knees.

"Oh my god," Jan says in a shocked voice as she shakes the remaining dust from her kitchenware off her hair and clothes, "I don't know what happened!"

"Probably an electrical surge," Sam suggests. "City gets them all the time. Sorry about earlier. I'll let myself out."

Jan pauses to look at the man strangely.

Sam just cocks an eyebrow and heads for the archway and presumably the house's front door.

Jim reacts on instinct, leaping forward far enough to grab onto his brother's shirttail. The habit is ingrained from years of Sam instructing him to do exactly that when they were young kids and went places around town together and Sam had no hands free to keep a hold of his little brother. "Don't let go no matter what," Sam would always say. "We'll look wherever you want, Jimmy. Just don't let go."

He's desperately afraid to let go now.

Jim doesn't know what he must look like, but he suspects the brief flash of anguish across his brother's face is a mirror of his own expression.

"Let Sam go," Jan commands, clearly annoyed by Jim's attempt, however futile, to delay their guest's leave-taking.

Kirk's hand snaps open automatically, and word and image fail him. Frustration returns to knot his throat and wet his eyes. He shakes his head fiercely, more so to prevent himself from weeping in front of his brother than to deny Jan mastery over him.

Sam's gaze darkens.

Yes, Jim thinks at his brother, just smite her.

But of course, it's wishful thinking, is not going to happen, maybe cannot happen. For some reason Sam is not able to explain to him, now is not the time or place to deal with Jan Lester.

Jim trusts his brother—and so he offers a thin smile. "See you," he says.

Jan looks pleased.

Sam inclines his head the tiniest bit, and then the man is gone. They hear Jan's front door shut with an almost obscene lack of noise.

Jan turns to Jim. "You could have done better."

A smartass remark sticks in Jim's throat. He swallows it down. "I'm sorry." _Dear god, just let me survive whatever comes next._

After considering Jim, his captor sighs. "Jim, why are you making this difficult? If you would just be good to me, I wouldn't have to—"

The microwave gives a last, dying belch and begins to smoke. Jan runs for a cabinet, probably to locate a fire extinguisher.

Jim just watches the microwave burn.

* * *

As the evening approaches, the feeling in the house becomes stranger. It must be the vestiges of restless magic that Sam left behind, but even Jim begins to take note after a while.

It starts with a framed portrait of Jan's family falling off a wall. Jan stops stroking Jim's arm to put it back up. Then Jan's cell phone disappears, and they only find it because Jan orders Jim to help her search and Jim, opening and closing potential hidey-holes at random, pops up the kitchen trash can lid. Jan becomes angry when it glitches, her screen password (which she swears she never changed) failing after the third attempt and her phone officially locking her out. "It was brand new! I paid a lot of money for it!" she rages for a full minute before realizing how her tantrum must look to Jim.

She grabs Jim by the shirt collar, then, threatening, "We'll just have to entertain ourselves another way," and there comes the sound of something shattering in the next room. Jan throws her hands up in the air, snapping out the order to Jim, "Go take a fucking shower and brush your teeth!" before she stomps off to inspect what new pricey item has been destroyed in her home in under three hours.

Too bad she didn't tell him to leave her alone. He would have gladly made a beeline right out of the house and the whole neighborhood. Instead, and most unfortunately it seems she is going to try to spend the night with him being conscious in his own body. That cannot mean anything good for Jim.

The bathroom feels cold and drafty, the tiles chilly beneath Jim's bare feet as he pads inside and engages the doorknob's lock behind him. He has the uncomfortable sensation of being watched despite being alone.

After Jim showers, he wipes himself off with one of the towels stacked beside the tub and quickly dresses himself out of a need to have the security of clothing around him than any urge to hurry back to Jan's side. He brushes his teeth with the toothbrush Jan considerately thought to buy for him in advance of his kidnapping, then spends a while staring at himself in the fogged mirror above the sink, wondering if his worn-down appearance is his imagination or the result of her spell feeding off his energy.

That strangeness has apparently followed him into the bathroom because the billowing of steam behind him, leftover from the hot shower, is coalescing into a vaguely human-like shape in the mirror.

Jim leans forward to brace his hands against the sides of the sink, elbows locked, surprised by his body's sudden quaking, like it senses something that his mind balks at recognizing. Then that something swipes the fogged glass in front of him, an invisible hand leaving behind a long, clear streak where his eyes are reflected. Below the streak, slowly, with deliberate care, letters take shape, one after the other. The word they make is his first name.

"Who are you?" he asks.

And at last, the illusion of being alone in the bathroom ends.

"So it wasn't a ghost," Jim says, staring into dark eyes through the mirror. "It was you."

"Jim."

Jim turns around with a tremulous smile. "Spock?"

Spock inspects Jim's expression carefully, asking in a gentle voice, "You know my name, but do you know who I am?"

Jim suspects Spock will know if he's lying. "Kind of. I dreamed about you. You've been looking for me… with McCoy?" The sadness in Spock's eyes is, oddly, a relief to Jim. He steps toward Spock. "Can you help me remember you?"

"I would like to try."

Jim tilts his chin up. "Then do it."

The fingertips that rest against his cheek are cool. Jim relaxes into the touch on instinct. A frisson of warmth passes across his skin, soothing away his chill as if he has stepped into a spot of sunshine. "Mm, nice," he murmurs. "I think I like you."

A corner of Spock's tips upward the tiniest bit. "That is hardly surprising."

"Are we flirting? What would your boyfriend say about that, I wonder."

"Leonard would join us—you know this, Jim."

And Jim does, surprising himself. Whatever control Jan Lester has over his mind becomes weaker as Spock continues touching him, maybe because Jim likes Spock so much better. Loves him. As he loves Leonard—no, _Bones._

"Aw, shit," he says, suddenly blinking back tears. "What has she done to us, Spock?"

"To your _mind_ , Jim," Spock corrects, "but she has not and cannot do anything to change your heart. Thank you," he says, removing his hand from Jim's cheek, "for holding Leonard and I safely there."

Jim is not an overly emotional man but he thinks he is allowed a moment of weakness or two, especially under current circumstances. He throws himself into Spock's arms, who responds by holding on just as tightly. With his face pressed against Spock's shoulder, he thanks Spock several times for coming after him.

"Gratitude is unnecessary. I could no more abide your loss than the absence of the sun."

Jim laugh-chuckles into the man's shoulder, wipes his eyes and pulls back. "Save the poetry for later. Spock, how did you manage to get inside?"

Spock raises an eyebrow. "In the house or in the bathroom?" Before Jim can respond, Spock elaborates, "It would seem your brother has very strong magic."

"Yeah, but Sam doesn't like it so he bottles it up most of the time. When he does use it, it kind of… explodes."

"For which I am very grateful. Samuel was able to disarm the house wards long enough for me to enter the premises."

"I just thought he was pissed off when he fried the microwave." Jim thinks more about that. "Has she warded the house against all Blood, or just you?"

"I am not certain."

He meets and holds Spock's gaze. "Spock, can you stop her?"

Spock stares at him silently for a little too long before saying, "Leonard has asked me not to."

Jim inhales sharply, his grip on the man's shoulders tightening. "Okay, good call. I'm not keen on having my boyfriend in prison for murder."

"Destroying Janice Lester does not necessitate killing her."

 _Even worse._ "No, Spock."

Spock exhales with slightly more force than normal. "Very well."

Jim loves this over-protective half-human, half-elf. He really does. "So, tell me Plan B."

"For the moment, Plan B is providing you with protection."

There's a crass joke in there somewhere, but Spock probably wouldn't appreciate the humor behind it. Jim looks toward the door. "Why don't we just leave?"

Spock's tone sobers. "The spell affecting you is a powerful one. Jim, it is likely leaving will hinder you more than help you."

Jim's disgusted. "You mean Jan's got me tied to her like a dog on a leash. If she calls me, I'll go running back to her, won't I?"

Spock's lack of reply is answer enough.

"I hate this," Jim says, dropping his head forward. "Spock, those letters, I should have kn—" He jerks his head up, eyes wide. "The _letters!_ "

"Yes, the letters. We found two, in your room and in the bag you carry. Are there more?"

Jim runs fingers through his hair, realizing his mistake. "I threw the last one away at the men's bathroom at The Lantern." He makes a face. "She wrote it in blood."

"Yes, a blood-spell would be required." Spock tilts his head ever-so-slightly. "I understand now why the incantation felt incomplete. I will notify Leonard, Jim. Perhaps it is not too late to recover what was lost." He pauses briefly before adding, "The spell does not feel like the work of a local mage. I suspect Miss Lester bartered for it with someone from the Realm."

"I think she has some ability to use magic on her own."

"Be that as it may, to control a person such that one takes possession of all but the spirit requires many decades of spellwork training and also a significant level of strength, of which I am not aware of occurring among humans."

"Then who would—"

Jim is unable to finish his question, for Jan calls his name through the closed door. The mere sound of her voice makes his skin clammy and his senses stuffy. He closes his eyes, fighting against the pull to go to her with everything in him.

The woman's voice rises to a demanding pitch. "Jim, get out here!"

Jim's entire body jerks in the direction of the door.

Spock captures Jim long enough to press his mouth lightly to Jim's forehead. The contact helps Jim last against the pull of the spell for a few more seconds, long enough to beg, "Don't leave me."

When Spock breaks away, he promises, "I will never leave you. You are safe."

Having that assurance makes it less painful for Jim to let go. He unlocks the bathroom door and steps outside just as Spock vanishes from sight.

Jan fills Kirk's vision, then, waiting with an impatient tapping of her foot in the middle of the master bedroom. She takes in his appearance from his wet hair and clean clothes to his bare feet, deciding, "That won't do. Shirt off."

When Jim tugs up the hem of his shirt, the lamp on the nightstand tilts over and hits the floor with a resounding crash.

Jan's angry facade collapses, revealing how truly tense and unnerved she is. She presses her hands to her eyes as Jim deposits his shirt on the floor. He hears her mutter of "This isn't working."

Jim takes a risk, inquiring in an appropriately meek tone, "What would you like me to do now, Jan?"

Jan removes her hands to wrap her arms around herself and, for the first time, offers only a vague "I don't know."

"Sleep," he suggests.

She presses her mouth flat for a time, then concedes. "Go to sleep, Jim."

Jim walks to the bed and lays down, oddly relaxed about obeying the command. After all, he thinks, staring up at the ceiling a couple of seconds before shutting his eyes, Jan is powerless now to stop what's coming for her. Pity that she doesn't know it yet.

* * *

 **Final chapter will be up this weekend. I didn't mean for this story to be so long, but oh well! Priority One mission: Rescue Kirk, defeat Lester.**


	4. Part Four

Jim awakens with a sense of foreboding. The house is silent, oddly subdued like the night after a hunt, when some of the city's occupants wake up wondering who among their friends are still around and others don't wake up at all. After a long minute, Jim realizes he is alone in bed. There's a ticking clock in another room but otherwise no more sounds in the house except his breathing.

A bedroom curtain flutters. Since the window is shut, Jim calls quietly, "Spock?" He relaxes when a weight makes the edge of the bed dip slightly.

"I am here, Jim."

"And Jan?"

"She left the house while you slept. Her car has returned to the drive only just now."

Jim sits up. "She made certain I slept while she was gone."

"It would seem so."

Locking his arms around his knees, Jim needs to know, "What's our plan?"

The front door to the house opens and closes.

"When Miss Lester takes you to the farm, we will confront her."

"But how do we—"

"Jim, I brought bagels and coffee! Come to the kitchen." Jan's voice doesn't have to be loud in order to be heard.

Jim climbs out of bed without fighting the need to obey. "Talk later," he whispers to Spock as he exits the bedroom.

* * *

There are no opportunities to talk later with Spock unfortunately. Jan has plans for Jim that keep him occupied all day. He's semi-grateful that these plans don't involve staying inside her house, but it also makes him uneasy once he determines their destination is downtown. People will see them together and Jim won't be able to explain his circumstances any better than he could to his brother, the difference being other people won't know fact from fiction.

Perhaps luck is on Jim's side after all. He and Jan encounter no one they know (or at least that Jim knows) and therefore no explanation is warranted. Then after running a few mundane errands, Jan escorts Jim to one of the downtown cafes he rarely frequents for lunch. Jim is nearly convinced that his initial impression this morning had been a mistake. Nothing seems amiss with Lester's demeanor.

Not until, that is, Jan surprises Jim while he's emptying a sugar packet into his unsweetened tea.

"Jim, how did your brother know you were at my house?" she asks.

Jim manages not to freeze and finishes his task before casually remarking, "Don't know."

Lester contemplates the mostly uneaten salad under her fork. "I don't believe you."

She might order him to tell the truth if she really doesn't believe him. The only way to call her bluff is with a bluff of his own, something Jim excels at. He lets annoyance show. "You've kept me from contacting my family, and this is the first time we've been out of your house in _days_. You think _I_ would know what the hell is going on?" he complains testily.

"Don't take that tone with me!"

Kirk almost ignores the warning, but the slight movement of the salt container at a nearby table reminds him of one good reason to proceed with caution. Spock won't hesitate to disarm Jan if she tries something with Jim in public—and Spock's presence is already freaking out some of the clientele just by haunting a table. Although, Jim thinks with a touch of amusement, to be fair the Blood who have come to the shop for a drink and a bite to eat don't seem to find Spock's invisibility disconcerting. One of them even sat at Spock's table to read the newspaper and enjoy a latte, probably just to spite Spock's attempts to thwart interested customers. Thankfully the male didn't give away his ghostly guest, simply choosing to leave after a short while with an amused tilt to his head.

Sighing through his nose, Jim sets down the spoon he used to stir his tea. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me."

Jan seems briefly startled by the apology but returns the favor. "I'm sorry too. Of course you wouldn't know." She looks away. "I can't explain it, Jim. Something feels… off. I wish I knew what."

Jim keeps his voice level. "What do you mean?"

The woman shrugs one shoulder before facing him again. "It's an intuitive feeling. Magic runs strong in my family, you know—much like yours, Jim." Her gaze skips around the cafe, which makes Jim's heart race until she passes by Spock's table. "Odd little things have been happening. Could it be a message?" She meets his eyes again. "From someone?"

He doesn't reply, cannot speak around the lump in his throat, but luckily Lester's posture relaxes. Whatever test she just gave him, he passed somehow.

"Are you finished?" she asks, smiling. "Let's go shopping."

"Shopping?" he repeats, dubious now for a different reason.

Her smile widens. "Oh, it won't be that bad."

"I don't like shopping."

"I can tell." Jan reaches across the table, placing her hand over his. "But you will accompany me, Jim."

Her eyes twinkle at his automatic "Yes, Jan."

Jim swallows a _damn._

The woman laughs, rising to her feet. "Follow me," she orders, walking away from the table and their lunch, and of course Jim does.

* * *

In hindsight, Jan Lester has every reason to be paranoid and none to shirk her intuition. Jim forgets that.

He and Jan spend the better part of the day in and out of clothing boutiques along the main street, where she forces him to wear an ungodly number of outfits like he is a Ken doll to be dressed up for her pleasure. Whenever she pauses to take in their surroundings, he distracts her by complaining about her latest choice in men's attire. It's strange, but they develop a banter that, under other circumstances, might have been the prelude to friendliness. Jim catches himself falling too deep into the act a few times, disgusted, and then does something she really doesn't approve of so that she will order him to obey her, which acts a bucket of cold water to his brain every time.

Later, when Jim thinks back on that day, he realizes Jan was as distracted as he was, so busy running them up and down the street at a crazed pace, putting him into so many outfits only because she was too preoccupied to take note of what did and did not suit him. He should have known that when she had him try on a conservative suit and tie that made him look like a nerdy accountant who spent the majority of his day crunching numbers in a claustrophobic little cubicle.

But with the arrival of late afternoon and the sun low in the sky, anxiety begins to gnaw at Jim. Jan can dress him up in as many expensive clothes as she wants, he thinks, but at some point she has to take him to the farm. His family is there, waiting. Jim's desperate to be out of his invisible chains. He wants to be with Leonard outside of a vision, to reassure his mother, and to lean on Sam. By the time Jan checks the time on her restored phone (which was one of their morning errands) and leads Jim to her Taurus sitting at the curb, Jim has all but forgotten Jan isn't the one beholden to someone else's will.

"My mom's a good cook," Jim is saying, amazed that his voice doesn't waver in the least as Jan navigates the rush hour traffic. "You won't be disappointed."

"Is that so?" she responds in a light tone.

"Yeah. Mom toyed with the idea of opening a restaurant for a while but, you know, start-up funding isn't that easy to come by." And his mother had two sons to raise in the meantime, which is where most of their family income went each month anyway. "I don't think she regrets it, but I do on her behalf."

"You and your mother have a strong bond, don't you, Jim?"

He crosses his arms over his chest. "You could say that." _When I'm not being a jackass,_ he thinks somewhat sadly. Jim pulls out of that thought, noticing the intersection they just passed by. "You should have turned right there."

The woman smiles faintly when Jim glances in her direction, something about her smile dishonest.

And he knows. He underestimated her. Jan isn't shockingly smart but she is methodical in her approach to a life of crime; Jim, who has been called an irritatingly clever criminal many times over the years, has been judging her by a set of standards that don't fit. His mistake.

He questions more softly, "Jan, where are we going?"

"I don't think your family really wants me to visit." Jan turns her smiling face with its dispassionate gaze upon him. "They want _you_."

"What are you talking about? Mom invited you to dinner."

"Oh, Jim, do I look stupid? The warning signs have been around us all day."

" _What_."

"The gods have been trying to warn me not to be so greedy. If I am not conservative in my desires, this chance for us to fall in love will vanish."

It can't be, Jim thinks. Jan has been interpreting Spock's little interferences between them, mainly to keep Jan off of him, as _divine intervention_? She is crazy. Genuinely out of her mind!

"It's too soon to expect a welcome from your family, Jim. Please understand."

Jim's glad he tucked his hands into his armpits because otherwise they would be shaking in plain sight. Jan's telling him in no uncertain terms that she won't go to the farm, perhaps not ever.

Kirk closes his eyes, breathing quietly for a minute in order to regain control of himself before panic sets in. He can't afford to panic. If he panics, Spock will do something. Probably flip the car and drag Jim away from Jan and the wreckage.

 _There has to be another way. Think!_

His on-the-fly, big-problems-need-sneaky-solutions talent must be rusty since Jim has settled down. It takes half a minute longer than it used to for an idea to pop into his head.

"You're right, Jan," he says, opening his eyes. "We aren't obligated to meet my folks." Jim twists around in his seat to face her. "In fact, we don't need their approval at all."

Her glance his way is naturally a suspicious one. "Why would you say that?"

"Simple. I'm just fucking sick of this city and how everyone in it thinks they have a right to judge me and my decisions."

Surprise replaces suspicion. "You are?"

"Wouldn't you be if you were me?"

"I—yes, I guess I would."

"Then help me, Jan. Let's leave Riverside."

The request is a calm one and based on honest desire. Jan must recognize that because as she slows down to an intersection with a red light she says, "You mean it."

"Yeah, I do," he replies, thinking, _Don't freak out on me, Spock._ "I think you're the only person who can take me away from here."

Jan's chin trembles faintly, as if all Jan wanted to hear from him since she took him was a plea only she could fulfill. "I'll help you."

Jim covers her hand on the steering wheel with his own, not unaware of the irony of his touching her without a command. "Thank you."

He has her trust. Jim can see that alongside the satisfaction and relief in her eyes. Until now, everything Lester tried to offer him hasn't been good enough. But this, leaving the city together, he has essentially told her, will be.

A car in line leans on the horn. Jan starts, clearly having not noticed the red light has changed to green. She drives them through the intersection. "What should we pack? Where should go?"

He flashes a devil-may-care grin. "Anywhere. Let's make it an adventure."

"Now?"

"Why not? C'mon, Jan, don't you want to live a little?"

Jan's excitement is palpable. "Yes! Okay, we're going."

Jim leans back in his seat with a satisfied smile of his own, propping a wrist next to the driver-side headrest. Because he is expecting the contact, the fingers wrapping tightly around his bicep yields no surprise. Jim has faith that Spock will figure out the new plan.

When Jan turns the car onto one of the major highways running out of Riverside and heads west, Jim begins a mental countdown of the mile-markers. He has been this way a hundred times but today will be the first time traveling this road with the intention of returning.

Five minutes pass, and then they are nearly there, speeding down a long curve with the city limits sign just out of sight. Jim clears his throat and says, "Goodbye, Riverside" as a warning to Spock.

"What?" Jan asks.

"We're almost out of the city."

Jan laughs. "Wonderful! We're going to be so happy together, Jim!"

The sign becomes visible, in huge painted letters thanking visitors for their trip to the city of Riverside. Jim laughs too, in relief.

"Yeah, about that," he cannot help but tell the woman beside him, no doubt sounding a bit of gleeful. "There's no 'us'."

She turns to stare at him in bemusement.

"I don't date crazy bitches," Jim spells it out for her just as the car whips past the sign, slamming his eyes shut afterward.

Jim experiences a terrifying second or two as the Border magic engulfs him, colliding with Lester's binding spell. The two magics become tangled up. A quick, nasty battle ensues. The superior contender, the Border magic inevitably wins, squashing the competition by brute force. Jim's ears pop. He opens his eyes to find himself looking at trees and a cloudy sky. There's an echo in his head that sounds like Jan in a fit of rage. He sits up with a groan.

" _Fascinating._ "

Jim's head whips around at the voice, his mouth dropping open at discovering Spock sitting on the dirt road too.

Spock ceases to survey their surroundings, turning to meet Jim's shocked stare. "I would like to try that again."

Jim scrambles to his feet, his tongue tripping over his questions. " _Spock_ , how did you—b-but—how could—"

Spock rises in one graceful movement and begins to brush dirt from his clothes. "I believe I understand your relationship with the River's magic now. It is most impressively possessive."

"What?" Jim grabs Spock's shoulders simply because he needs something to hold onto. "I don't understand. Spock, no one has ever come _with_ me before. How did you do it?"

Spock blinks at him. "I simply asked."

"You asked?"

"Affirmative. I believe the River magic was weakened by fighting Miss Lester's spell. Rather than engage in another battle, to transport me too was in its own best interests."

Jim can think of absolutely nothing to say to that.

"There are a few sources I should like to consult first, but I may have a solution to your problem." Spock looks past Jim. "Ah. Leonard did receive my text."

"JIM!"

"Bones?" Jim turns as McCoy comes flying around the bend of the road.

The two men meet halfway, nearly crashing into each other in their enthusiasm to be reunited.

"My god, Jim," McCoy croaks, hugging him fiercely, "you're a sight for sore eyes!"

"Good to be back, Bones."

"Kid, you're strangling me." Leonard doesn't sound at all unhappy about that.

"You're crushing my ribs."

Leonard eases up, then Jim. Spock is standing next to them with the faintest of frowns.

"What's the matter?" Jim asks.

"My phone appears not to have accompanied me."

"You pointy-eared hobgoblin," Leonard says, barking out a laugh suddenly, "come here. I'm happy to see you too."

"But my phone," Spock protests.

Neither Kirk nor McCoy give their boyfriend a chance to finish, reeling him into their arms.

* * *

The reunion goes on a little too long, which nearly results in Kirk, Spock, and McCoy being rundown. The driver of the van spies them at the last second and brakes hard, skidding off to the side of the road to avoid a collision.

When Jim's heart doesn't seem like it's going to punch through his ribcage, he picks himself out of the ditch where he had launched himself and his two partners after checking that they are only as dazed as he is, not injured. Jim discovers why none of them heard the van coming. It's enclosed in a sound-dampening spell.

The driver door slams open and closed, producing no noise at all. But the man behind the wheel makes up for the lack of it by exclaiming loudly, "Jim!"

Jim is startled to be suddenly embraced, and by someone completely unexpected. "Scotty? What are you doing here?"

"Is that mechanic friend? You idiot, you nearly killed us!" Leonard yells from the ditch area.

Scotty pauses in pounding Jim joyously on the back. "He's daft, Jim. It's not my fault ye were standing in the road!"

At McCoy's growl, Jim intervenes with "Easy, easy," placing himself in the path between the two men just as McCoy climbs out of the ditch with a glare, dragging Spock along by the arm.

"Damn it, Scotty, I called you to help us, not turn us into roadkill! Why the hell didn't we hear you?"

"Stealth magic," Jim and Scotty reply at the same time.

Leonard's glare wavers. "What now?"

Spock has circled past them to the van to inspect it with interest. "It would appear Mr. Scott desired that no one detect his approach."

"Of course not," the man in question says indignantly. "I'm on a spy mission!"

"Oh for god's sake. You _are_ just like Jim. Spock, stop that. You can play with the spellwork later."

Scotty's face brightens. "With better hair."

Jim self-consciously runs a hand over his head. "Why'd you call Scotty, Bones?"

Scotty jabs him with an elbow. "Oy! I thought we were friends!"

"We are," Jim explains in a grimmer tone, "which is why I don't like the idea of you being here. It's dangerous."

"That's a nice thought, Jim, but a man doesn't stand by and watch his friend become enslaved, danger or no danger."

Leonard releases an explosive sigh. "Spock messaged me about the third letter, but I couldn't go after it." The man won't look Jim in the eyes. "Spock and I kinda made a scene at that bar to get access to the security camera footage."

Jim grimaces. "Please tell me you two don't have a price on your heads."

Spock joins them, hands at his back. "Not yet."

"Well, that's another problem for another day," Scotty cuts in cheerfully. He removes a ziplock bag from a pocket in his coveralls. "But this isn't any longer. T'was at The Lantern all right."

Spock takes it. "Thank you, Mr. Scott. You have proved yourself to be a valuable resource in a time of crisis."

Scotty whistles. "Comin' from one of such a renowned and venerable race, that must be a compliment."

"Take it from me, it is the best you'll get," Leonard tells Scotty as he studies the napkin in disgust. "No, Spock, leave it in the bag. No telling where the damn thing's been."

"Dinnae ask," Scotty echoes with a shudder. Then, recovering, he reaches into a different pocket in his coveralls. "This wee beauty did all the work." The tinker opens his palm to reveal the little spell-spider. "Took her less than a minute to find it in the dumpster since it was spelled. I figure with a little modification, next time she could do the job in half the time."

"Let's hope there is no next time." But Jim gladly takes the tiny spider in hand and praises her. "Good job, little one."

The spell-spider waves her front legs at him before proceeding to probe the center of his palm curiously.

"Guess we'll call her your _lucky_ charm," Scotty says to Kirk with a chuckle and a wink.

McCoy rolls his eyes skyward, warning Jim, "Don't start," knowing Jim too well. Then he adds, "We should head to the house."

Jim sobers. "Agreed." It seems like a miracle that he has managed to stay coherent this long. Jan must be pissed.

Something in McCoy's gaze tells Jim that Leonard is wondering the same thing.

"Get in the back," Scotty calls, already climbing into the driver's seat of the van with Spock heading toward its passenger side. "And don't touch anything!"

That's a smart warning, thinks Jim as he opens the doors to the back of the van.

"Jesus," mutters McCoy after he and Jim have squeezed themselves inside, and he has poked at a few of things around them. "Is that a blowtorch? Just what is he planning to do to Lester?"

"We probably don't want to know," Jim replies. If McCoy thinks he is joking, Jim won't relieve him of that illusion. At times like this, Jim is reminded how he met Scotty. The tinker doesn't need magic to be a scary bastard.

The van lurches back onto the road, carrying them home.

* * *

Like many of those around Jim Kirk, his mother has spent most of her life fighting for herself and those she loves. She is no stranger to standing tall in the face of a tough decision or a dangerous situation. She can be, at times, the person no one dares to mess with. Jim will ignore that when it suits him, but mostly he values her strength and determination. Except, of course, when they're on opposite sides of the battlefield. Then it's time to be scared.

McCoy swings around the side of the van but stops short in surprise. "Jim, your mother's armed."

Jim pauses with one foot on the ground and the other still braced against the van's bumper. "You didn't run out of the house without telling her why, did you?"

His boyfriend's eyes widen. "Shit."

"Stay behind me," Jim orders, climbing out of the van to allow McCoy to close the doors behind them and squaring his shoulders.

"She won't shoot, right?" a nervous Leonard wants to know.

Jim cannot supply a comforting answer so he doesn't say anything at all. As he steps away from the van, he keeps his hands at his sides, empty and in plain sight. Then he stops where Winona can see him.

"Jim?"

Jim smiles. "Hi, Mom."

Winona catches herself after one step forward, her gaze passing from Jim to McCoy then over to Spock and Scotty, who at least have sense enough to stay inside the van.

Jim sees her struggle between a desire to go to him and a caution which makes her think twice. There is a good reason for that caution; they have been burned before by unwelcome visitors wearing familiar faces.

Caution wins out. "How did you get here?"

"22 to Kalona."

Winona inhales sharply. Sam steps out from behind her, taking the shotgun out of Winona's hands just before she drops it. Jim's mother wastes no time, then, hurrying down the porch steps where Jim meets her at the bottom. Though she reaches for his hand, she seems to change her mind at the last second about hugging him. Her gaze moves past Jim, to Scotty and Spock exiting the van and McCoy hanging back as if uncertain of his welcome.

Her attention returns to Jim. "Are you all right?"

He nods. "For now."

"Come inside." Winona raises her voice to carry. "All of you." Then the woman lets go of his hand and ascends the porch, leaving Jim to follow at her heels.

* * *

Being among family and friends creates a false sense of security for Kirk. His first inkling of _something wrong_ is a faint buzzing at the periphery of his consciousness, like a fly hanging outside a car window waiting for the chance to make its way inside. Jim shakes the sensation off without much thought, far more interested in the twin bowed heads of Spock and McCoy as the pair puzzles through each verse that makes up the entrapment spell. Across the kitchen table, Aurelan and Sam are busy watching Scotty's spell-spider try to pick apart Sam's wristwatch while Scotty enthusiastically devours a grilled cheese sandwich provided by Jim's mother. Winona hovers by the stove, keeping a watchful eye on them all.

"'Bring an end to old love,'" Leonard reads aloud with dismay. "Do you think this is why Jim didn't recognize you at first?"

Jim is quick to argue, "I _did_ know Spock… sort of." When Spock and McCoy just look at him, he subsides.

Spock turns to McCoy. "Most likely. The objective would be to eliminate or suppress any connection that the target may have to an existing romantic attachment."

"Making you and I strangers to Jim in the event we managed to contact or locate him." Leonard glances at Jim. "Do we look like strangers to you now, kid?"

"I think you're strange," Jim teases. "Does that count?"

Leonard swipes at Jim's head. "Never mind."

"Cute," Scotty says, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, "but maybe the flirting can wait until ye figure out how to undo the blasted spell."

"I have been contemplating the matter. Since the River transported us here, Jim has been relatively lucid and clearly in control of his actions, which indicates the spell can be made unstable by raw magical power. If produced in sufficient quantity—"

 _—I know you're in there, Jim!_

Jim jumps out of his chair as Jan's voice rams through his brain. Spock cuts off mid-theory, turning to Jim, and everybody follows suit.

Jim grips the edge of the table. "She's here."

Scotty abandons his chair, hurrying to look out the window over the sink. Spock and McCoy each claim one of Jim's arms, whether to restrain him or support him is unclear. Sam pulls his wife away from the table, crowding Aurelan toward Winona with the sharp order, "Upstairs, both of you." He doesn't even flinch under the women's glares.

"Jim should come too," Aurelan protests. "He's the one Lester wants."

"Jim has us," Sam counters.

Jim agrees with his brother, albeit for another reason. Speaking is difficult with so much of his concentration on staying put—Jan is calling him to her with heightening intensity—but he is able to make his opinion known. "Please… go. I don't know… what I might do, and I won't be able to forgive myself if… something bad happens to you and the baby and Mom."

Winona nods her approval to Jim and coaxes Aurelan out of the kitchen despite Aurelan looking unhappy about the retreat.

Jim cannot fully see his brother's expression but the telltale stiffness to Sam's jaw is enough. "Sam," he grates out, "why don't you invite our guest in?" Sam's gaze lands on him. "It'll stop her from calling me, at least for a while," he adds.

Sam walks out of the kitchen.

"Jim?" Leonard says worriedly.

Jim closes his eyes, starting to sweat. His grip on the table has already broken but he thinks Spock and McCoy make pretty good substitute anchors. At least he hasn't tried to shake them off yet—or worse. "Doing my best here, Bones."

"Damn it. Jim, I'm sorry. I thought we'd have more time before she figured out where you went."

"Not your fault."

"It may be mine," Spock intercedes quietly. "My phone was not locked. If she discovered it in her car, she could have easily identified my last message to Leonard."

"No use crying over spilt milk. Jim, can you sit down?"

"Don't think so."

"Okay. Just… hang in there."

 _No chance of that_ , Jim thinks dismally as they all hear the slam of the screen door. His muscles do relax somewhat though, enough that he direct Spock and McCoy to shuffle him closer toward the main hallway. They don't argue with him.

Sam has shown Jan into the living room, where the woman paces by the windows. She immediately heads for Jim when she catches sight of him, but Sam blocks her path and so do Spock and McCoy.

Jan talks past them to Jim, looking both angry and betrayed. "You left me! How could you leave me?"

"Don't answer that," Leonard advises. "She doesn't want the truth anyway."

Lester's gaze jumps to McCoy, flashing with hatred before she holds out an imperative hand. "I'll forgive you, Jim, if you come back to me."

Jim sways forward, grateful to have the solid wall that is Spock and McCoy in between them. "I won't."

Jan drops her hand. "Then I'll make you."

"My brother isn't going anywhere with you, Miss Lester," Sam states matter-of-factly.

Jan's laughter doesn't sound sane. "You can't stop him. Jim!"

Jim's body snaps to attention.

The woman smirks. "I want you at my side, darling. _Now._ "

Sam, Spock, and McCoy bracket Kirk, refusing to allow him to pass. The weight of Jan's command leaves Jim shaking. His head starts to pound, and his vision blurs. He senses something more awful than a migraine building; in a moment, he thinks he might be incapacitated.

"Watch out!" Scotty cries.

With everyone's attention focused on Kirk, Lester had slid around their group, coming toward Jim from their blind side. Being the first to see through her trick, Scotty is also the one to pay the price for outing her. Jan fires a monosyllabic word at him like a bullet, and he flies over the back of the couch with a surprised shout, taking out a lamp on the way.

Jan hits Leonard next, intent on eliminating the easiest targets, the ordinary humans who cannot protect themselves from magic. McCoy flies into the wall beside the archway.

Someone screams, Jim realizing after a second that the sound came from him.

"I can kill him," Jan hisses, her hand outstretched as if curled around someone's neck. "I'll crush his throat before any of you can stop me."

"Spock," Jim chokes, "check on Bones," even though Leonard sits up beside the wall, wide-eyed and pale. "Spock," he pleads, and Spock finally moves, not looking at Jan but at Sam for some reason. Then the man takes a step backward, followed by another until he pivots around completely and heads toward McCoy across the room with a stiff stride.

"Scotty?" Jim calls, fighting to make his voice louder than a whisper. "You okay?"

An arm appears, grappling with the back of the couch. Jim can't make whatever it is that Scotty mutters.

Jim looks straight at Jan. "Okay," he says, "you win."

"Jim," his brother says sharply, but Jim just shakes his head.

Jan only lowers her hand once Jim reaches her side. "Stay," she orders him, and his heart tears in two at the thought, knowing that he is about to lose his way to Spock and McCoy again.

Jim sees Jan's lips move, feels the spark of an incantation.

Spock shouts, "Now!" and that's when all hell breaks loose. A wave of magic suddenly sweeps toward Jim and Jan—no, shit, _two_ waves from opposite directions—and they hit him with a blinding energy like a tractor beam from a starship on some decades-old sci-fi show. For just a second, he freezes, the proverbial deer in the headlights. The rest becomes a topsy-turvy blur, on par with being sucked into a whirlpool where the choices are either spin or drown.

When the tide of power finally recedes, Jim opens his eyes and shuts them again immediately; the light is painful, colorful little orbs and halos meandering every which way. He had caught a glimpse of his brother's face among the kaleidoscope, daubed with winking stars like he's been the victim of a glitter bomb explosion. Now that Jim is paying attention, he can hear a clamor of voices and the intermittent groan of the farmhouse structure.

Sam says, "Are you okay, Jimmy?"

"Your face is sparkly."

"So that's a no."

Jim forces one eye open. "Huh. Still sparkly. I don't think it's me, Sam." Spock's face comes into view. "Hey, Spock, my brother looks like a Twilight vampire."

Spock raises an eyebrow at Sam. "The effect will fade in time."

When Sam's face fills with horror, Jim starts laughing. After the two men help Jim sit upright, his laughter dies to a hiccup under his brother's glare.

Kirk finally looks around. "What happened?" His gaze lands on Jan. "Uh, is she dead?"

"Unconscious." Spock hauls Jim to his feet. "The collision of magics knocked her out."

"Magics… as in plural?" Jim's eyes move from Spock to Sam and back again.

Sam studies Jim's boyfriend with wariness and a hint of approval. "Never seen a Blood do that before."

"Nor have I heard of a human attempting the same. Most interesting." Spock returns the older Kirk's stare evenly. "When I recommended that you create a diversion, I assumed it would be non-magical. Fortunately, you and I unleashing power at the same time did not implode the house."

"Whoa," Jim says, brain barely working as it is and now stalled by the mere notion of _implosion_.

Leonard arrives at his shoulder, looking equally upset and shaken. " _Implode_ the house? There are people in it!"

Spock blinks placidly at McCoy before returning his gaze to Jim. "How do you feel?"

"Like somebody strapped firecrackers to me and set them off." He shrugs. "Could be worse."

Sam snorts. "The man's asking if you still feel like kissing Lester's feet."

Jim gags at the thought. " _Gross_ , Sam. And hell no. No f-ing way. Please kill me first."

"I will," Scotty agrees, tottering up next to Kirk and company. "Anybody else seeing the Aurora Borealis?" He blinks twice at Sam. "That man looks like a fairy godmother in a bad Hallmark movie."

"You see the sparkles too?" Jim asks wondrously.

Scotty backs up a step, clearly disturbed. "Is it catching?"

"See what?" Leonard demands.

"Jimmy? Sam? What happened?"

Winona Kirk stops at the threshold to the living room upon seeing their little group. Then she spots Lester and asks grimly, "Is she dead?"

"Unconscious, we think," Jim offers helpfully.

As if he had issued a summons to return to life, Jan lets out a hacking cough, her legs and arms twitching.

The gentlemanly thing to do would be to help the woman up, but as far as Jim is considered Jan is no lady. According to their expressions, the others appear to feel the same way.

Winona crosses the room and grabs Lester by the arm, none-too-gently yanking the woman to her feet. Jan sways under their watchful eyes, her dazed look clearing only once her gaze finds Jim's. "Jim? Come to me."

"My god," McCoy groans, "does she never give up?"

But Jim is less concerned with that than a startling new fact. He looks down at himself in astonishment. "Whatever you guys did, it's good news. I'm not feeling a thing."

"Come here!" Jan snaps.

From his position on the floor, Jim snort-laughs.

Leonard peers into his face. "Jim, sweetheart, what's going on?" To Spock, he asks, "Is he going into shock?"

Jim just raises a hand. Scotty, who gets it, high-fives him.

After studying Jim carefully, Spock's pronouncement is "The spell has been broken."

The only person who screams in denial is Jan.

Jim comes to his feet as Lester launches herself toward him. She doesn't go far, letting out a shriek as Winona yanks her backward by the hair. With a half-sob, half-scream, Jan twists wildly in Winona's hold until she manages to tear herself loose. Then she rounds on the woman, both her hands curled into claws, still screaming out her rage. An instant later, Lester is silenced abruptly by Winona's palm cracking across her cheek. The woman reels back from the blow. Every man in the room jumps.

Jim prudently positions himself behind Sam. Spock and McCoy move behind Jim. Scotty, having jumped all the way back to the nearest flat surface, a wall, doesn't seem inclined to leave that spot anytime soon.

Jan's legs give out in surprise and she drops to her knees. Cradling her abused cheek, she shrinks in on herself when Winona looms over her, a rage in Winona's eyes far greater than anything Jan would have felt.

In the most frightening voice Jim has ever heard from his mother, Winona informs the woman, "If you come near my son again, not God or the law will stop me from ending you."

Jan's eyes fill with tears. "But I love him."

"You don't love him like I do," Winona claims darkly. Her terrifying gaze snaps toward the men. "Get this trash off my property."

Chin wobbling, Jan balls her hands into fists. "It's not me!" she cries, scrambling to her feet. She skitters out of range of Winona when Winona's head whips back in her direction. Flinging an accusatory finger toward Spock, she shrills, "It's him! _He's_ the monster!"

An incensed McCoy lurches around Jim. "The hell he is! The only monster in this room is you!"

Jan's head jerks back and forth. "Lies. You would lie. You're his _slave_. Don't you get it? You don't really love him! Jim doesn't really love him! A human can't love an _Other_!"

A breath shudders out of Winona. "That's not true. I loved Jim's father."

Being behind Sam makes it easy for Jim to grab onto the back of his brother's shirt.

"Easy, Jim," Sam murmurs for his ears only.

Jan's throat works after Winona's rebuttal, but the woman clearly is not one to accept defeat with grace, despite having no alternative. She begins laughing for little apparent reason in long, fragmented chortles that make everyone else cringe. Then Lester suddenly tosses her hands in the air, exclaiming, "Fine, give your son to that foul monster! That Blood _traitor_!"

Foreboding washes over Jim as Spock glides over to Lester, his eyes hard stones in an even less friendly face.

"Who told you I am a traitor, Miss Lester?"

Under the Highborn's icy stare, Jan's crazy laughter dies, and she backs away from Spock.

He follows her. "What a grievous thing to say. Did this person specify who I betrayed? My House? My… father?" At her silence, he presses, "If you cannot tell me that much, then I bid you, speak the name of the one who maligned me."

"Spock." McCoy clears his throat, glancing at Jim with the silent question of what to do.

"A _name_ , Miss Lester."

"Jim…"

"Don't look at me, Bones. I'm not getting in between Spock and her while he looks like that."

"Great. Wonderful." McCoy moves toward Spock cautiously. "Spock, remember your promise."

It is a long minute before Spock tilts his head to consider the man instead of Lester. "I regret making a promise I have no desire to keep. I should very much like to deal with this person, Leonard."

Jim moves to Spock's other side, exchanging a glance with McCoy. "How about a compromise?"

Spock's brows draw together.

Leonard has picked up on Jim's idea. "Kidnapping is a federal offense. If Jim is willing to testify—" At Leonard's slight pause, Jim nods confirmation of that. "—the authorities should be able to deal with her. But as for this unknown… informant, I admit I think we're better suited to take care the Other problem ourselves. So, how about it, Spock?"

Spock's face clears and becomes almost serene. "Yes, that will satisfy me."

"You're crazy!" Jan laughs at the three of them. "I can't be charged with a _crime_."

"Take off the blinders, Jan!" Jim snaps, stepping forward, mindful of the way Spock and McCoy tense. "You took away my right to control my own body. You took away my right to say no. There might be no law in the human world to make that a crime, but what you did is still _wrong_. And I'm damn well not going to let you get away with it—or try it on anybody else. From this point on, you have two choices: face a judge and jury, or face _us_."

"And to be clear, Miss Lester," Spock says, "binding your magic will be infinitely more unpleasant than living in a prison, as it comes at the cost of your mind."

"Sounds like poetic justice to me," McCoy quips.

Lester pales—and slowly shakes her head in the negative.

Jim hadn't expected her to choose otherwise. It won't be easy, facing her in court, trying to underpin his testimony by claiming that she drugged him instead of spelled him or detailing her assault on him, what he remembers of it, but he can do nothing less, for himself and for others who could someday be at her mercy.

Jim sighs through his nose, turning to survey the others in the room. "Somebody find me a phone?"

"That won't be necessary, Kirk." The man who steps out of the darkened hallway slides sunglasses off his face. "We'll take it from here."

At the sight of Gary Mitchell in uniform and the two policemen behind him, Janice Lester's face finally crumples in defeat.


	5. Part Five

**Part Four and Part Five have been posted at the same time. Please read Part Four first if you have not.**

* * *

"Lester has a record," Mitchell reveals while a crying Jan is handcuffed and taken into custody. "Two counts of stalking and three counts of sexual harassment." His gaze finds Jim's. "Chances are you're not her first attempt at 'subduing' a partner. One of the victims with a restraining order against her went missing last year, but no conclusive evidence has been found to link the case to her." Something like regret passes across Gary's face, lending more gravity to the cop's already grim expression. "When a predator changes hunting ground, neighboring jurisdictions are usually notified. Ours wasn't."

Jim works past the lump in his throat, grateful for the supporting arm McCoy has around his waist. "Tell me what I need to do, Gary."

"Come to the station and give a statement. We can talk about what comes after that."

"Can it wait until tomorrow?" Leonard asks.

"My son could use his family right now," seconds Winona.

After a moment's consideration, the officer nods. Then Mitchell meets Kirk's gaze again.

Maybe Jim should say something, a simple thanks or 'glad we're not entirely dead to each other', but in the end, there isn't anything to be said that both of them don't already know. Their history is complicated, cheery in the beginning when they were young, impetuous and stupid, and ugly by its end. Those bittersweet memories will always keep him and Gary connected. So there is truly no need to mend what remains broken between them, for despite it—or maybe because of it—the two of them have to continue looking out for one another, as there can be no one quite like Gary to Jim and no one like Jim to Gary.

Mitchell breaks eye contact as he moves back, out the hallway and door to the porch steps with Jim breaking away from McCoy to follow. The man glances back once to consider the men and women who have formed a semi-circle behind Jim before touching the edge of his police hat. "You folks take care now."

Then the man is jogging down the stairs, making a twirling motion with one finger at a junior officer standing by the backseat car door of the police car that contains Lester. The young man moves to the driver's side. Scattered across the yard, other policemen follow suit, returning to their vehicles, calling in status reports, pulling out onto the dirt road in single file.

Someone steps up to Jim's side, an arm anchoring itself across Jim's shoulders once the cars are a barely visible cloud of dust in the distance.

The man hums under his breath. "First time we had the police out here, and they didn't take you with them when they left, baby brother."

"George Samuel Kirk!" Winona gasps.

Both Kirk boys grin at their mother. Then Sam roughly musses his younger brother's hair, prompting Jim to duck out from under Sam's arm to attack the man's head. They only manage a few decent shoves at each other before they're interrupted.

"Sam!" Aurelan snaps, coming through the doorway.

Winona echoes, "Jim!" in the same annoyed tone.

"Aww," Jim mutters, disappointed when his brother abandons their play-fight to escort his pregnant wife back into the house. But Sam winks at Jim before the hall shadows swallow him up, which means if Jim still desires a tussle later, his brother is definitely game. Better, decides Jim, to wait until Aurelan and their mother go to sleep.

Jim turns toward everyone else. Judging from McCoy's expression, any brotherly fights should be after Leonard goes to sleep too. Spock, on the other hand, seems like he might be open to judging the winner. Scotty is simply entertained.

Except his friend says, "I'd stay but I've had my fill of excitement for the day. If you're good, Jim, I'll just be—"

"Come to the kitchen," Winona interrupts. "You look like you could use an ice pack for your back, and I don't want that spider making webs near my appliances."

"How could I forget Lucky!" cries Scotty, aghast. As he trails Winona into the house, he can be heard arguing, "She doesn't make webs."

"Then what does she do?"

"Jim is definitely your son! I don't _know_ her purpose yet."

Their voices fade to a murmur, leaving Kirk, Spock, and McCoy on the porch in the middle of an awkward silence. Jim and Leonard try to break that silence at the same time.

"You first," Jim says with a magnanimous wave of his hand.

"No, you." Leonard looks him over with concern. "What can I do? Do you need to sit down? Are you hurt?" He looks to Spock. "Should we take him to the hospital?"

Jim huffs. "Do I look hurt, Bones?"

That must have been the wrong thing for Jim to say because Leonard's gaze narrows critically.

"You were the one thrown into a wall," Jim reminds him.

"Yeah but you have been mind-controlled, which I can't even believe is a _thing_ in this town." Pain flashes across McCoy's face, then. "Kid, why'd you get yourself kidnapped?"

Jim hears what Leonard really means: _How did this awful thing happen? Why couldn't I prevent it?_

"Bones, blame me all you want, just don't blame yourself."

That works. The agony in McCoy's eyes recedes. "Blame who? Nobody's at fault but that crazy woman!"

"That's right, nobody but her." And the person who supplied her with the spell in the first place. Jim glances at Spock, but Spock's expression doesn't give his opinion away.

Leonard purses his mouth. "Fine, I'll save my pity for a boyfriend who doesn't talk back."

"Then good luck finding one," Jim quips.

Leonard smiles.

A feeling of unease nags at Jim, which he chooses to ignore. "Can we go inside now? It's been a long day."

"Yeah, you should rest, Jim." Leonard places a hand on the back of Jim's neck, which chases away the uneasiness. "Your mom put fresh sheets on your bed. How does a nap sound?"

"Food sounds better," Jim admits. His stomach rumbles loudly.

"Then I suggest we eat first," Spock says, as usual deferring to anyone's empty stomach.

Jim gives in to his flagging energy, allowing Spock to open the door for him and McCoy to escort him toward the kitchen where the sounds of his mother and Scotty engaged in a conversation return. Later, he will let both men tuck him into bed and hold him so that all three of them can be comforted. For now, it's enough to know they are at his side and not going anywhere—and neither is he.

* * *

The digital clock on the bedside stand tells Jim it is after two a.m. when he wakes up from a dream that leaves him shivering. Slipping out of bed without disturbing its other occupants, he pulls on a robe to cover his pajamas and provide extra warmth. Then, knowing he won't be able to sleep again for a while, he quietly makes his way to the first floor of the house. Sam is watching television in the living room, all signs of their confrontation with a maniac gone.

Jim takes a seat beside Sam on the couch. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Sometimes Aurelan wants the bed to herself." Sam flips from an infomercial to an overseas basketball game. "She also kicks harder since she became pregnant."

"You might deserve the kicking. You did knock her up."

Sam snorts.

Jim assumes a comfortable slouch. "So, when do you find out the sex of the baby? …Or do you know?"

Sam pauses in his channel-flipping to eye Jim sideways. "Do _you_ know?"

Not quite able to meet his brother's gaze, Jim nods.

Sam's attention returns to the television, the man seeming relieved but still silent. It takes Jim a second to realize why. He could smack himself on the head for not thinking of it sooner. Then again, so rarely does Sam need or want reassurance about something; but Jim should have known his wife and kid would be the exception.

He faces his brother. "They're going to be fine, Aurelan and the baby."

"'Kay."

Jim goes on staring until Sam says, "What?"

"You can ask me about them whenever you want. I'll tell you what I see."

Sam looks faintly annoyed as he drops the remote control to his lap and meets Jim's gaze. "I'm not going to force you into a vision, Jim."

"If it's for you, I don't mind."

"Why?"

Now Jim is annoyed. "What do you mean _why_? You're Sam—an exception to the rule."

His brother observes blandly, "Maybe."

Jim sits up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just say it."

"Say what?" he snaps.

"That you love me."

Jim clams up immediately, an age-old response of any sibling under pressure to admit to liking another sibling.

"You love me." After repeating those soft words, Sam smiles. "And you're _really_ grateful I played knight in shining armor."

Jim rolls his eyes. "You didn't do anything but upset the microwave and nearly implode everybody. And seriously?" He rubs his shoulder, complaining petulantly, "Talk about overkill with the beating me against a wall multiple times."

Sam turns back to the television, saying, "You'll live," followed by, "Get off my couch."

"It's my couch too."

"You don't live here anymore."

"I'm here now."

To prove his point, Jim grabs the remote. Sam snatches it back. Jim claims one end, and the tug-of-war begins in earnest. Jim wins by gasping, "Aurelan!" which Sam falls for every time; in his brother's moment of distraction, Jim leaps from the couch with the coveted remote and runs off with it.

He nearly collides with his mother in the hallway, skidding sideways at the last second into the side table. Winona rights him, plucks the remote from the floor and returns it to Sam, who is loitering in the archway between the hall and living room with the caution of someone who knows he's in trouble. Jim, still caught in Winona's grasp by the collar of his robe, watches Sam take the remote without comment and vanish into the next room.

Jim should have known. His brother isn't a knight in shining armor. He's a traitor!

Jim is casting about for some way to escape his impending scolding when Winona lets him go and opens her arms.

He stares at her as if he hasn't seen her before, his ears suddenly ringing with the ugly accusation from days ago that made her cry. "Mom," he starts, his throat working.

Her arms begin to lower. Jim exhales and walks into them.

"You're the reason for my gray hairs, young man," Winona informs him a minute later after he complains her hold is too tight.

"No fair," he mutters against her shoulder. "Sam should get half the blame."

"Sam is absolved of all past, present, and future transgressions. He's giving me a grandbaby."

Jim un-tucks his chin from the juncture between her shoulder and her neck to complain, "You always did like him better."

She kisses the side of her son's head as if he is still two years old. "You know it."

Nothing more needs to be said. The exchange is another code of theirs: Jim is sorry, and Winona forgives him.

Winona releases him with a fond smile. "Do you want me to tuck you in?"

Jim smiles back. "That might be a problem for Spock and Bones."

"Yes," she replies, suddenly serious, "it might." Then she orders him back to bed.

* * *

Upstairs, Leonard is hanging out next to the hallway bathroom with an air of apprehension.

Jim approaches him, teasing, "Did you get lost?"

"No, I was just wondering where you went."

"Everything's fine, Bones."

Leonard's expression turns to thoughtful consideration as Winona comes up the stairs behind Jim and gives Leonard a small nod before heading to her bedroom.

Jim takes McCoy's hand, tugging Leonard to his old bedroom where Spock continues to sleep undisturbed, barely making any sound. Kirk and McCoy re-situate themselves, Jim on the edge with McCoy in the middle. It's a tight fit on his queen-sized bed for three grown men, but they manage it somehow, as earlier that evening neither Spock nor McCoy could agree on who would use the guest room downstairs.

After several minutes of silence, Jim rolls onto his side to face Leonard, pillowing his head on his arm. "Are you asleep?"

"No."

"Remember when I told you I have never had a vision for myself?"

McCoy's eyes open, and the man turns his head sideways to look at Jim.

Jim decides Leonard isn't saying anything because he's simply waiting for Jim to continue. Jim does. "I dreamed while I was with Jan. Every image was of you or Spock, sometimes both. You were searching for me, then searching for a way to help me."

"Good."

"Good?"

"It's about time, Jim. You give people hope. Why shouldn't some of that be for you, especially when you need it most?"

"Huh. I never thought about it that way—my ability, I mean."

"Your _gift_ ," Leonard emphasizes, turning his face back toward the ceiling, closing his eyes. "You're a light in the darkness. It's why I like you."

Warmth spreads through Kirk. He chuckles softly. "I hope that's not the only reason."

"It's not. Now be quiet and try to sleep. At least one of us has to be semi-coherent when we talk to the police tomorrow."

As a reply, Jim scoots forward to kiss McCoy's cheek. Then, feeling impish, he whispers in his partner's ear, "I like your grumpiness. It's hot."

"Shut _up._ "

Laughing, feeling more carefree than he has in days, Jim loops his arm around Leonard's middle and does his best to comply, for when love is freely given, obeying is no hardship at all.

* * *

The next morning, Winona walks her son and his guests out to the porch, where they make their goodbyes. The process of giving a statement at the police station will take hours, if not most of the day, and Jim has already made it known he wants to return to his apartment afterward.

Spock is silent during the exchange, and Leonard is unusually polite.

Winona was quiet during breakfast and, beyond pleasantries, seems to have lost her remaining desire to speak. Jim shoves aside disappointment because he honestly has no energy for it, and starting a fight they can't finish until later is a recipe for disaster.

It isn't until Kirk, Spock, and McCoy are heading for McCoy's parked car that Jim's mother calls to them, pulling them up short.

She descends the porch but instead of facing Kirk, she faces his companions.

"Ma'am?" Leonard inquires, still polite.

Winona lifts her chin slightly, and Jim, recognizing the warning sign of his mother about to dig in her heels over something, tries to intervene with "Mom, we'll be late."

"The police can wait." Winona clasps her hands in front of her, saying to Jim's partners, "We have family dinners on Sunday. You're invited."

Jim's mouth opens but no sound comes out.

Leonard stares momentarily, then clears his throat. "Thank you, ma'am. We'll consider—"

"I am vegetarian," Spock interrupts.

Winona turns to Spock. "What do you like to eat?"

"Can you make lasagna?"

Jim's mother purses her lips, an indication of giving the inquiry serious consideration. "To be frank, Mr. Spock, I have never made lasagna for a vegetarian."

"I see," Spock replies gravely. "Then it may be too challenging."

A gleam comes into Winona's eyes. "This family appreciates challenges. Please arrive a few hours early. I think you and I shall attempt the lasagna for vegetarians together."

Spock's dark eyes gleam too, though more likely at the prospect of a cooking lesson than anything else. The last time Jim allowed him to operate a stove, he became distracted by The Bachelor and nearly set the apartment on fire. Jim has a bad feeling about all of this.

"Understood," Spock says. "May I have your cell number, Mrs. Kirk? I will text you once my phone is recovered."

"No!" Jim and Leonard cry at the same time. They each latch onto one of the half-blood's arms.

"Gotta go, Mom," Jim chimes insistently, lending his strength to McCoy's in hustling Spock away from the porch.

Spock protests this leave-taking every step of the way. "Jim, it is crucial that I text your mother in advance of the lasagna experiment. I must have her number."

"No," Jim mutters firmly. "We need to teach you how to text properly first."

"Bye!" Winona calls, waving at them. "Jim, give your boyfriends my number!"

Spock's brows relax at this suggestion.

Jim faces Spock toward the car. "Not gonna happen. Don't even think about it, mister."

"But your mother—"

Leonard comes to Jim's defense, sticking a finger under Spock's nose, which Spock looks at cross-eyed. "Listen up. What just happened here is an olive branch. Jim and I aren't going to let you send it up in flames just because you like heart and poop emojis."

Winona watches them a second later, then goes into the house.

"I would, of course, send neither of those things," argues Spock, keeping his voice as hushed as theirs. "As the matriarch of her family, Winona Kirk is worthy of the Rainbow and the Clapping Hands."

Jim presses a hand to his face.

Leonard groans. "We love you, Spock, we do. But trust us, when it comes to communication with humans, you're still in the beginner's stage."

Spock looks at them as if he cannot decide whether or not to feel insulted.

"If it helps," Jim says, "you can text me all the rainbows and clapping hands you want."

Spock steps out of their grasp, deciding with a delicate sniff, "I will consider your proposal." Then the elfin man makes a graceful half-bow and sails around the car.

Jim looks to Leonard. "You okay with this?"

"With family dinners, or with your mom?"

"Both. Either."

Leonard squeezes his boyfriend's hand. "I will be. Only good thing to come from this mess is showing your mother how much you mean to Spock and me. What we have won't be something any of your folks can easily dismiss."

"Thanks, Bones," Jim says, not for the first time and for many reasons.

Leonard hooks him in, pressing their foreheads together. "Psycho stalker or not, you made us a promise at the beginning. Don't think we'll let you go without a fight, Jim."

Jim smiles to hear that. He pulls back, glancing over his shoulder in time to note the curtains over the kitchen window swaying. Ah, so his mother is still watching them, probably alongside Aurelan.

"I'll be okay too," he decides.

"I hope so. Now, for god's sake, tell Spock to get out of the driver's seat. He's not licensed, and I don't want to have to replace another car."

Jim grins, lifting his hands with a gesture of _what can we do?_ "You said we could teach Spock about humans more quickly if we dated him."

Leonard responds with a constipated look.

"Annnd you regret that decision every day," Jim singsongs for the man, slipping an arm around McCoy's waist to escort him to the other side of the car. "Luckily, Bones, you have me. We can regret your life choices together."

From inside the car, as Spock adjusts the driver's side seat to accommodate his long legs, he has something to say about that. "Gentlemen, need I remind you both that a Blood's hearing is superior to that of a human's? There is nothing to regret."

Jim agrees happily, "No, Spock, I don't believe there is."

 **The End**

* * *

 **This story was a fun ride for the author. I hope the same can be said for the readers!**

 **I did intentionally weave some hints of bigger issues into the narrative and, of course, provided just enough backstory to be tantalizing. You see, when I started this story, it immediately occurred to me that a "bordertown" Riverside might be an AU worth revisiting in the future. Should that happen, the sequel will be titled _River Mad_ , because madness is more rampant in Riverside than one might think. ;)**


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